New York, I Love You
by xoxoeosvugirl
Summary: Sequel to A Farewell to Innocence, read AFTI first! It's been two years since Max was kidnapped, and all is well until one fateful day involving an experiment, a rape, and a scandal spins New York City off balance once again. Full summary inside! FAX!
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello, hello! I know, I haven't been on in FOR-EVER. Between school, prom, Driver's Ed, sports, SATs, and other stuff, writing has been on the back burner. BUT! I am currently in the process of reading Tom Wolfe's novel, A Man In Full, and decided to write a sequel to A Farewell to Innocence based on it. As you know, AFTI was based on Wolfe's other book, The Bonfire of the Vanities, so if you couldn't tell I am a fan of his (; ****If you haven't read AFTI yet, please do so so you will understand this story! Thanks and enjoy!**

**Plot:** It is the fall of 2013, two years after Maxine Martinez was kidnapped. Now, Max is a freshman at New York University and dating Columbia junior and famous _New York Times _reporter Nicholas "Fang" Ride. All is well for the couple, until the publisher of Fang's Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Mark Dupont, is arrested for the statutory rape of fifteen-year-old Beth Gibbons. Suddenly, Fang must defend his association with the publisher and save his writing career. In between school, her internship at a prestigious law firm, and helping her boyfriend save face, Max must deal with the return of her destitute father (and kidnapper) Jeb Batchelder.

Meanwhile, Dr. Marian "The Director" Janssen, the former CEO of the company which was responsible for Max's kidnapping, struggles to pay her many debts to society and the Martinez family by working as a general practitioner in the impoverished Bronx. However, old habits die hard: Marian attempts to experiment on 8-year-old Rosie Turner, a girl straight out of the South Bronx projects. When her mother Evelyn learns of the incident, tensions are ignited once again and race riots begin all across New York City. Marian once again finds herself spiraling into the depths of the New York legal system-and back into the courtroom of the notoriously tough Judge Renee Laurent. Bronx District Attorney Robert Chu is eager to redeem himself after failing to convict Marian in 2011, and begins pushing for a conviction with new ADA Rachel Kearney, further increasing racial and socioeconomic struggles around the city.

As new and old faces collide, Max's life returns to the chaotic state she swore she'd never go back to. Time may pass, but some people never change, and some scars never fully heal.

**Genre: **Crime/Political Drama, like AFTI.

**Pairings: **Max/Fang, The Director/OC

All human! I am not Tom Wolfe, nor James Patterson. I do not own any of the characters, except my original ones. I also do not own New York City and its leaders.

Read and review!

* * *

**Prologue**

**New York City**

**Russian Tea Room**

Nicholas "Fang" Ride sipped his cappuccino in a way that could only be described as 100% pure "classy." In fact, Fang exuded class: at the age of just twenty, he was one of the _New York Times's _premier investigative reporters.

Next to him, his girlfriend, Maxine Martinez, carried herself in a similar fashion. She was dressed in a green silk dress with a black blazer, and laughed and joked with the other people seated at their table like she was one of them. Max _was _one of them. After recovering from being kidnapped and experimented on, Max was now a freshman at New York University, studying for law school and interning at Williams, Mason, and Pierce, one of the city's most well-known law firms.

Fang smiled as he observed Max. She was beautiful, smart, _perfect, _and dating him. _Him! _

"So. Mr. Ride. We meet at last," a British woman said, smiling radiantly. "I'm Sarah Lawson. _So _nice to meet you! You know, I'd like to tell you how much I admired your book! You know what Faulkner said when asked what three novels he recommended-_Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina, Anna Karenina_-if he were alive and reading, I'm sure he'd say _Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence, __Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence, __Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence!_" She flipped her hair.

"Wow. Thanks," Fang said, taken aback by her excited demeanor. Fang was a rather quiet person himself, though he had become a little more outspoken over the past two years.

"Tell me, Mr. Ride," Sarah said, leaning in. "What were you thinking when you wrote that book? No, scratch that. What were you thinking when you wrote those _articles_? My God! When the whole case was going on, I'd be sitting there pouring over the _Times, _just thinking of those _poor children_! It's just _unbelievable, _the stuff people will do to earn a buck these days!"

"I was just thinking of, you know, the law. Justice. And Max." He patted Max's hand and kissed her on the cheek.

"Aren't you a sweetheart," Max quipped, rolling her eyes playfully. Max wasn't one for romance, though she too had learned to adapt and smile for the camera once in a while.

"Wonderful!" Sarah exclaimed. "Won-der-ful. It's so great to see young people caring about the law! Those Whitecoats-isn't that what they were called, Whitecoats?-have _no _respect. For the law, for their city-even for themselves! They're horrendous. Absolutely horrendous."

Across the city, one of the "horrendous" people in question was sitting in an apartment in the West Village, staring absentmindedly at the television.

"...in other news, Nicholas Ride's book, _Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence, _reached an all-time high in sales this week. And what a better time, as this is the two-year anniversary of the infamous Itex case. Dave, I remember hearing about Max and those other kids like it was yesterday! Don't you?"

"That's right, Natalie," a male news host said. "Wow. Two years later, and we haven't heard much from the doctors who allegedly kidnapped and experimented on dozens of children, called the Whitecoats. Yet, Max Martinez sure isn't laying low. Here's what the victim-turned-success had to say."

The camera cut to Max's face.

"The whole ordeal definitely affected me," Max said. "Of course, I still remember it. But I refuse to be anything less than a survivor. Over the past two years, I've learned that it's not what happens to you that defines you, it's how you deal with it."

Dr. Marian Janssen rolled her eyes and shut off the TV, slamming the remote down like a child whose favorite show was cancelled. Max Martinez had dealt with the last two years by going to NYU and becoming famous, while Marian, formerly the Director of Itex, a successful (albeit illegal) medical research center, had lost nearly all of her money and was forced to work as a regular old doctor in the Bronx, a borough she had never stepped foot in before her arrest.

Luckily for her, the charges (organized crime, illegal experimentation, kidnapping...) had been dropped due to a courtroom scandal, but that didn't make Marian any less hated by the public. Every day, she woke up to angry voicemails, emails, Facebook messages, and texts from people, asking "how could she" do such a thing. She was even afraid to leave her apartment, a tiny studio.

She thought of what she would have done a couple of years ago, on a similar sunny day. She would have gotten up, gone for a run, and headed off to work, where she'd oversee a few experiments, give some orders, grab a cup of coffee, and go home, maybe to shop or go to a Broadway show with her friends. She was Marian Janssen, the Director, the WASP Princess of Park Avenue.

And here she was, stuck in a tiny shithole apartment, a residence usually inhabited by students and young professionals as opposed to near-broke mad scientists. That fact depressed her. It made her angry. It made her disappointed. Above all, it made her sad.

_No..._ she told herself, wiping away a tear. A tear shed in memory of a checkered past.

She couldn't concern herself with such matters. Crying caused wrinkles. And Marian had enough to worry about.


	2. Order in the Court

**Bronx District Cour****thouse**

As she did on many other days at her job in the Bronx District Courthouse, Assistant District Attorney Rachel Kearney entered a small conference room holding her bag lunch, accompanied by District Attorney Robert Chu, fellow ADA's Martha Lang and Richard "Richie" Carrozzi, and Detectives Andrew Wilson and Tony Burns of the Bronx's 86th Precinct. Kearney had only been on the job for a couple of months, and still felt intimidated by the nature of working as a prosecutor in the Bronx. Luckily, Carrozzi and Lang were able to show her the ropes.

Carrozzi took a bite of his BLT before picking up a copy of the _New York Times. _Kearney snuck a peek at the front page.

_NEW YORK REMEMBERS ITEX CASE, TWO YEARS LATER_, was the first headline she saw.

_By Nicholas Ride_

"Remember all this?" Carrozzi pointed to the headline. He snorted, already knowing the answer. Everybody, everyone from the loftiest Fortune 500 executives to the worst pieces a' shit on the block, knew about Itex. It had been one of the largest criminal trials in the 21st century in New York City, and it all started with a car accident right there in the South Bronx. A doctor, Jeb Batchelder, had hit James "Iggy" Griffith while attempting to kidnap him and his girlfriend, Monique "Nudge" Jones. Through the investigation of the car accident, the detectives discovered that kids were being kept at a lab called Itex, located nowhere else but Midtown Manhattan.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. Don't remind me. That was a fuckin' mess if there ever was one."

Chu clenched his fists, struggling to keep his anger under control. While the case had led to his re-election as Bronx DA, the whole thing had gotten dismissed because Sam Greene, Chu's former ADA, had slept with a juror. His reputation had quickly sunk after that, and he was trying to get back on his feet.

Yet, that wasn't an easy task in the Bronx. Nearly all of their suspects were African-American, Hispanic, or some other minority. In addition to being ethnic minorities, many of them were also below the poverty line, on food stamps, or received some sort of public assistance. Most of them lived in the projects. What Chu really needed was a defendant from the other side of the bridge-a wealthy, preferably Caucasian, snob. Someone in the upper income bracket. Someone for whom an arrest would be the end of their life as they knew it.

Someone like Jeb Batchelder, Marian Janssen, or the rest of the Whitecoats. They had been the perfect criminals! The perfect people to shoot Chu's reputation to the top. But the case had fallen apart, they weren't behind bars, and so Chu was still on the search for the Great White Defendant.

Kearney looked at her watch. "Don't we have to go to court?" she asked.

Carrozzi put the paper down, taking a final bite of his sandwich. "Right. Fonzy's being arraigned. Think they'll get him?"

Alfonso "Fonzy" Rodriguez was a garbage collector from the Fordham area of the Bronx accused of being an accomplice to murder. According to Wilson and Burns, he had helped hide several dead bodies.

_Fonzy's one helluva garbage collector, _Wilson thought, chuckling ironically.

"Alright, folks. Let's kick some ass," Chu said, throwing his empty cup of coffee into the trash.

Judge Renee Laurent examined the docket placed in front of her. Alfonso Rodriguez, age thirty-five. His mug shot wasn't exactly flattering.

_Then again, it's a mug shot, not a _Vogue _photoshoot, _Laurent thought. She rolled her eyes. Every day, it was the same thing. A minority defendant, brought in on some charge. That was how it was working in the Bronx. Another day, another "guilty" verdict. Only rarely were there exceptions to the rule-the last one had been two years ago.

Laurent remembered the faces of Batchelder, Janssen, Walker, and the others like it was yesterday. Unlike most of the city, she hadn't held a major emotional attachment to the case. She, like any reasonable judge, just wanted justice to be served. She knew what she was doing, dismissing the case. They were probably worse off not having been convicted. Instead of being protected by the isolation of jail, they had to go back into the world and face what they had done.

"Docket number eight-zero-three-five-two! The people of New York versus Alfonso Rodriguez."

"How does the defendant plead?" Laurent asked.

"Not guilty, Your Honor," Rodriguez said with a heavy Hispanic accent.

"People on bail?"

"Your Honor, the people request five hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Rodriguez is suspected in helping an alleged murderer conceal his victims' bodies! Now, tell me, Judge Laurent, do you really want a man like that running free in the streets of the Bronx?" ADA Kearney asked. She was fresh off the boat from law school, and clearly had been watching too much Law and Order. The Rodriguez case was, to put it nicely, a flop. The DA's office had little evidence against the guy, except for one witness, a homeless woman.

"Five hundred thousand?" Rodriguez explained. "Judge, I didn't do nothin'! I didn't do nothin'!"

She banged her gavel. "Order! Order in the court!" she shouted.

Laurent was used to Chu throwing defendants at her. Ever since the Itex case was dismissed, Chu was desperate for a conviction and would do anything to send anyone to jail. Laurent was looking forward to the next year's elections so that someone _sane _could take Chu's place.

"Approach the bench, Counselor," she ordered Kearney, who did as she was told.

Laurent leaned in. "You want five hundred grand for Rodriguez?" she demanded. "You don't have anything on him."

"I-"

Laurent held a hand up. "You get me a _credible _witness, no, two or three, some fingerprints and DNA samples, _then _come back to me. Do you know how many spots we have in this court? Not many. Only a select few cases can go to trial, and this, Ms. Kearney, is not going to be one of them."

Kearney's face fell. She blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Your Honor," she said.

"Why are you apologizing?" Laurent demanded. "It's not your fault this case is a joke." She waved the file in the air and banged her gavel. "Alright. Back to your seat."

Kearney walked back to the prosecutors' area.

"Mr. Rodriguez, your grammar is the only thing you need to worry about now. I'm hereby dismissing this case in the interest of justice," she said. She banged her gavel once more, finalizing the decision.

"'Scuse me?" Mr. Chu demanded, storming up to the judge's podium. "What the _hell-_what the _fuck-_are you doin'? This guy's-"

"There's no evidence," Laurent said slowly. "It wouldn't last two days in court. Get me a real defendant. And keep that kind of language outta my court."

Chu was taken aback. Laurent sure stuck to her guns, no matter what.

But he was ready to do as she said. He would get her a real defendant-maybe even three or four!

_You wait, Judge Renee Laurent, _he thought. _You wait. My day will come. _


	3. It's Jeb

"I hope they didn't change the locks on me," Max joked to Fang as she stuck her key into the door of her family's SoHo loft. A few years ago, the Martinez family rented a nice yet small apartment on the Upper West Side, but after Marian Janssen lost a lawsuit to Valencia Martinez, Max's mother, they had purchased a sprawling loft in SoHo. It even had a view of the Statue of Liberty.

Max took the time to visit whenever she could, and not just because of the view. Mainly, it was because of her mother, of course, and Ella and Angel, her two sisters. Biologically speaking, Angel Adams wasn't Max's sister, but they had a past together. When Max was (for all intents and purposes) being held hostage at the School, the nonsensical nickname for Itex Laboratories, she had shared a room with Angel. When Fang helped Max escaped, Angel had been left behind, much to her chagrin. Angel had been angry at first after being rescued by police, but eventually forgave her. Now the two were as close as, well, real sisters.

"Voila!" Max exclaimed, pushing the door open. "Anyone home?"

"Max!" Angel shouted, running towards her. She was dressed in a pair of denim capris and a purple Camp Harmony T-shirt.

"Angel!" Max hugged her. Then, she stepped back and put her hands on her hips. "Are you wearing my old camp shirt?" she demanded jokingly.

Angel giggled impishly. "Maaaybe. Hey, it's not my fault. You didn't bring it to NYU with you."

Angel resembled Max quite a bit, though they weren't related. She was fourteen and a freshman at Stuyvesant High School. She was tall, with blonde, wavy hair.

From the doorway, Fang waved. "'Sup, Ange?" he asked.

"Hey, Fang!" Angel exclaimed. "How's everything been? You making sure Max doesn't get into trouble?"

Max nudged her. "You better watch it, Angel," she said, laughing.

"Oh yeah," Fang joked. "Max is quite the badass. Drinking, smoking, gambling-"

"Seriously?" Angel asked.

He laughed. "Max? All this girl does is work!"

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Reporter," Max shot back. "I'm not the one working for the _New York Times. _Where's Ella?" she suddenly asked.

"She's got a boyfriend," Angel said. "His name's Justin."

"Really?" Max asked. She was surprised Ella hadn't told her herself. Still, Max had been quite busy. "And what about you? Any boys?"

"Not right now." Angel shook her head. "But my friend Celeste says she'll set me up with Evan, one of her friends. Whatever. I honestly don't care. Did I tell you I made the swim team?"

"That's awesome!" Max exclaimed.

She grinned. "Thanks! I'm so excited. The coach is really nice. Celeste didn't make the team, but she wanted to do winter track anyway. I can't believe Mom didn't tell you I made swimming!"

Max shrugged. "Eh, we've all been pretty busy. Did I tell you I'm working for a law firm?"

"No way! Is it like Law and Order?" Angel asked.

"Nah. Not that kind of firm. I do mostly organizational stuff. It's pretty boring, but it'll pay off eventually."

"Yeah, like when you become a famous lawyer and kicking ass and taking names!" Angel clapped once. "Yeah, buddy!"

Fang and Max looked at each other and laughed. Angel was adorable.

"By the way," Angel continued. "Someone from Long Island's been calling us here. They never leave a message, but I looked up the number and it was for someone called Frank Williams."

Max rolled her eyes. "It's probably a politician. It's political season." Just the word _politician _reminded her of Mr. Chu, the Bronx District Attorney. Damn, he was obnoxious, practically begging for votes. Max swore she'd never be a politician. "What's the number?"

"555-1184," Angel said. Max dialed the number on her iPhone.

"Is it ringing?" Angel asked. Max nodded.

A scarily familiar male voice picked up. "Hello?" he asked.

"Uh, hi," Max said awkwardly. "My, um, my sister said you've been calling my family's place?"

There was a pause. Finally, the man asked, "Max? Is that you?"

Max's face went pale.

Fang rushed over. "Max? Are you okay?"

"Max?" the man on the other end of the phone asked again.

Max hung up the phone, her hand shaking.

"What is it?" Fang asked.

"It's Jeb," Max whispered. "He's been calling. He's back."

**Bronx Medical Center**

**6th Floor**

"Do I have to get a flu shot?" Rosie Turner demanded.

Marian Janssen rolled her eyes. "Do you want to get sick?"

_Ungrateful little bitch, _she thought. _Just be thankful your low-income, Section 8 ass even gets healthcare!_

In addition to being a criminal, Marian was a political conservative through and through, and was staunchly against any form of welfare. She viewed poor people as potential guinea pigs. _Hey, it's not like they're contributing otherwise!_

She wrinkled her nose. "No. But why-"

"Because it's important," Marian snapped. "Doesn't your _mother _teach you about the important things in life?"

_Like getting off your fat ass, stop spending my tax money on haircuts and Burger King and getting a fucking job? _she thought.

Rosie shrugged. "I guess not."

_Be nice, _Marian warned. In addition to having to sell off Itex (_may you forever rest in peace, you precious company, you!_), she had already been fired from a clinic in Brooklyn. She couldn't afford to lose another job, or she might end up in the position as Evelyn Turner, Rosie's mother. A position she detested.

"Hey," Rosie piped in. "Are you one of the bad people?"

"What bad people?" Marian asked.

"The bad people...the guy from TV was talking about. He said that there were some bad people who did some mean stuff a few years ago and you look like one of the girls he showed."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Marian lied. "I've never done anything bad. At least, I don't think so." She couldn't believe she was having to defend herself to an eight-year-old.

"Well, _I _don't think you're a bad person," Rosie said, crossing her arms. "I kinda like you. Not as much as my friends Darryl and Michelle. But I like you. You know important stuff."

An idea popped into Marian's head. Rosie was so nice, so trusting...no. She couldn't. Jail was the last place she wanted to go.

_But, how would anyone know? _she thought. It could be her secret, until she got something out of it, that was. Then, forget arresting her, the city would be _thanking _her! Nobody had to know. This wouldn't be another Itex.

She smirked. "I kinda like me too."


	4. A Perfect Plan

Mark Dupont was the type of man who men wanted to be, and women wanted to be with. He was tall, lean, and handsome, with a chiseled face that looked like something from _GQ. _He was a smooth-talking, flirtatious kind of guy who knew what it took to get to the top.

He was the owner of Metropolitan Books, the company which published Fang's book, _Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence. _After reading the book-a lengthy, 725-page blow-by-blow of the entire Itex case-he had loved it, and knew it was going to sell. It was already in its second printing after only two years. Everywhere he went, from the subways to the beaches of the Hamptons during the summer, he saw people reading the book. He loved it. True, it had been Fang's writing, but Dupont's marketing and publicity. Being what many would call a "conceited bastard," Dupont took a lot of credit for making Fang famous and successful.

At the moment, wearing the kind of navy blue suit which angered men and aroused women, Dupont was having a cup of coffee with a young woman named Beth whom he had been seeing off and on over the past few weeks. From what she had told him, Beth looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She was a little young for Mark, according to society's standards, but Mark, who was thirty-three, didn't follow society's rules.

"What are you studying?" the publisher asked her, leaning back in his chair.

"Contemporary writing," Beth said coolly, sipping her coffee like a British noble.

"Oh!" Mark exclaimed. "Have you read any of my books?"

Beth perked up. "You're a writer?"

"Publisher," he corrected. "I've published some pretty popular stuff. My most recent client was Nicholas Ride from the _Times._ Have you heard of _Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence?_"

"That's my favorite book!" Beth said. She reached into her bag, pulling out a copy of the glossy hardcover book. "I read it for class and fell in love. I laughed, I cried, I got pissed at those stupid doctors...oh my God. It's amazing. Nicholas Ride's a genius."

"Yes, he is," Mark agreed.

"That was such a huge case! Remember when Chu, the Bronx DA, flipped out on live TV? He started cursing out that prosecutor and going nuts!" Beth laughed.

"Of course," Mark said with a smile. He then pretended to check his watch. "Well, I've got some business to take care of at home, so I'm afraid we'll have to end. Unless you want to see my place?" It was quite the loaded question.

Beth smiled. "That sounds awesome."

Mark flung a few bills onto the table. "That'll get our coffee." He put his arm around her and led her out of the cafe.

And after all that, he neglected to ask just how old Beth was.

**590 Waverly Place**

"Hello? This is Dr. Janssen," Marian Janssen spoke into the phone.

"Yeah? Who 'dat?" a gruff male voice asked.

_I'm a sales rep from Hooked on Phonics, _she was tempted to answer. Honestly, could poor people be any more...poor? No wonder she hated them so much. They couldn't even say a fucking sentence!

"Rosie's doctor," she said instead. "This _is _the Turners' house, right?"

"Huh...yeah. You wanna talk to Evelyn?"

"Sure."

Marian could hear banging around on the other end, until finally, Evelyn Turner, Rosie's mother, picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

She could also hear the chewing of gum. No, not chewing, _popping. _Ugh.

_Fuck you, Subject 35, _she thought. It was 35-Max Martinez-'s fault that she was stuck in that stupid job. Stuck dealing with the lowest dregs of New York City. If it hadn't been for her, her _boyfriend, _and her mother, she would still have her money and her real life. Fucking lawsuits!

"Hi," Marian said. "I need to talk to you about Rosie."

_As long as I don't out-and-out lie, if I stick to half-truths, I'll be fine, _she reasoned. _Just be yourself. Wait...no. Don't do that. Just be friendly. _

"What about her?" Evelyn demanded.

"Well, I-"

"I'm eating dinner," she snapped.

"I saw...something interesting on the test results," she said vaguely, crossing her fingers for, in her opinion, good luck.

"Oh, yeah?" Evelyn asked, her voice becoming slightly softer.

"I'd like to observe her overnight, if possible..." Marian crossed her fingers even tighter. _Come on, Evelyn, come on!_

"For how long? And where?"

"Just at the clinic," she said, trying not to sound too anxious. "And just for one day. Maybe tomorrow?" One day. That was all she needed. One day, and she'd have it all again.

"Fine," Evelyn said with a sigh. "As long as it helps my daughter."

"Good choice," she said, a grin spreading over her face. "She'll be fine. Trust me."

"I hope so," Evelyn muttered. "Have a nice night." She hung up without another word.

Marian had to giggle. It was so, so sad how neglectful these welfare parents were...handing their child over to a complete stranger, a suspected criminal, no less! It was so pathetic it was hilarious.

She had a perfect plan. One of her former colleagues, Roland ter Borcht of Munich, Germany, had been working on a new drug which supposedly increased energy and brain function by over ten percent. Oh, she couldn't wait to test it out! Imagine how much money she could make off of something like that! She was sure that the public would forget all about her...unusual testing methods. Forgive and forget, that was the motto, right?

And more importantly, she would be herself, the Director, again! She might even make more money than before!

_Fuck Alyssa Davis, _Marian thought, referring to her former landlady who kicked her out of her Park Avenue penthouse. _I'll buy my apartment back! I'll buy your whole building! Fuck your so-called "morality," and fuck the NYPD. I'm still the goddamn Director, whether you like me or not. _

Smiling, she started humming an old Madonna song:

_Everybody's living in a material world_

_And I am a material girl..._


	5. Do You Think They Know?

**A/N: Who even reads these silly things? I just wanted to give a shout out to some cool kiddos. Thank you for all who have read/reviewed my stories, this one and AFTI! I appreciate it so much. I'm not going to pretend to be a Pulitzer Prize winning writer (I'll leave that to our good friend Fang!) but I love writing and all your feedback makes me smile (: Or in the case of TheCatWithTheHat, laugh my you know what off (; **

**So thanks to my regular reviewers...**

**AssassinAuthor**

**Liberty Hallway**

**TheCatWithTheHat  
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**JealousMindsThinkAlike**

**aalaal**

**...aaand anyone else I left out! For those who don't review, don't be shy, feel free to drop me a line sometimes! I love to get feedback on how I'm doing. Love it? Hate it? Please let me know! **

**More reviews=Happy Jess**

**Happy Jess=More Updates (: **

**Anyway, here is Chapter 5. Meow. **

* * *

Max awoke, opening her eyes to the sun streaming through the blinds of Fang's apartment.

"Morning," she said sleepily, tapping Fang on the shoulder.

"Same to you." Fang stretched his arms above his head.

Max reached over and looked at her iPhone. As always, she had a few new text messages from her friends:

_Monique "Nudge" Jones: Hey girl! Haven't talked to you in ages. I'm loving George Washington U, DC is great! How's life in the Big Apple, you celeb? (; _

_Kayla Warren: You didn't come home last night so I ate your ice cream :D #sorrynotsorry_

_Ryan Hanscom: MAX MAX MAX! I assume you'll be joining us for Thirsty Thursday this week once you're done being a big-ass lawyer?_

...but nothing from Jeb Batchelder, thankfully. The incident had startled her, thrown her off course. Here she was; everything was going so well until Jeb had to come along and ruin things! Well, not this time. Max would never let that man fuck with her life again.

Jeb had been the man who kidnapped Max two years ago. She remembered that night; she had been out at the movies with some friends. When she went to catch a cab back home, Jeb, at that time just a blonde man in a lab coat, had looked at her with sad-almost apologetic-eyes before injecting her with something that knocked her out. When she awoke, she was in a small, hospital-like room in Midtown. It wasn't a time period Max was likely to forget, ever.

To add insult to injury, after he had already been arrested and the case had been dismissed, he had confessed to being her father. It was _just great _to realize she had been lied to all her life, and her father had only had her to use her in medical experiments. _Really fucking cool, Daddy!_

The previous year, Jeb had lost a twelve million dollar lawsuit to James "Iggy" Griffith, after hitting him in a Bronx car accident. The lawsuit was the last Max had seen of him-the last anybody had seen of him. He had gone bankrupt after that, and rumor had it he was living with some family members.

But apparently he was back, and knew how to get in touch with Max. It wasn't that Max was scared of being kidnapped again. She knew that if any of those corrupt doctors-whom she and the city called the "Whitecoats-" tried anything stupid, they'd be back in jail. The whole country hated the Whitecoats-they were the perfect people to blame for American greed and corruption. What she _was _afraid of was having to face the past. Having to face what had happened to her, and having to face herself and her life-whatever it was.

"How're you doing? Anything from..." Even Fang was reluctant to utter his name.

"Nah," Max said, putting her phone down. "Just the crew."

After saying that, Fang's phone started ringing.

"Never heard of this number," Fang remarked. Still, he shrugged and answered the phone. "Nicholas Ride, _New York Times._"

Max smiled at his introduction. She and Fang were a true, modern-day power couple, the law intern and the _Times _investigative reporter!

"Uh-huh," he said, his smile fading. "Really? Has he made bail?"

"Who?" Max whisper-asked.

"Oh, no. Shit," Fang swore. "You're kidding, right? They got the Special Victims Unit on him and everything? Damn."

Max wondered if the person Fang was talking about was Jeb. She wouldn't be surprised if he had been arrested again. In fact, she kind of hoped for it to happen.

"Well, I'll do my best." He sighed. "Take care, John."

"Who's that?" Max asked.

"John Abate," Fang answered. "One of the representatives from Metropolitan Books. Dupont, my publisher, was arrested last night."

Max's jaw dropped.

"For statutory rape," Fang continued, his voice growing louder. "He slept with a fifteen-year-old. _A fucking fifteen-year-old!"_

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross. Why?"

"He said he thought she was eighteen. Stupid shit!" He threw the phone onto the bed. "You don't think they know, right? Do you think they know?"

"Know what?"

"That I'm working with him. I'm not letting Dupont's bullshit ruin my career!"

"It won't," Max assured him. "This is his fault."

He nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "You know the SVU?"

"The TV show?" Max asked.

"Well, yeah, but they've got a real squad here in Manhattan. They're the ones charging him. This is going to blow up. Abate said people are always looking to target businesspeople. Like..."

"Like Itex," Max finished. "Well, all we can do is hope for the best."

Fang sighed. "It better turn out okay. What else will I do if I can't write? Move back to LA with my parents and work in hospitality? No _fucking _thanks. I'm a journalist, Max. It's what I do."

"You still have the _Times, _Dupont or no Dupont. Anyway, I still believe in you." Max paused. "I love you. Jesus, if it wasn't for you I'd probably be dead by now."

Fang pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead. "I...I love you too, Max."

Her phone beeped with a text.

"What is it now?" Max groaned. "I need to stop giving out my number!"

Her stomach dropped as soon as she saw the text.

_Max, I really want to speak to you. I'm back in the city for the weekend. Thinking of moving back here. It's been a year since I last saw you; at least give me somewhat of a chance to explain myself. _

_I was sorry back in 2011. Still am today._

_Hope to see you soon. _

_-J.B_


	6. Just a Test

Marian Janssen sat in her office chair, looking out the window at the Bronx's Grand Concourse. She sighed. To the naked eye, the area itself looked fine, but she knew better. The Bronx Medical Center was an oasis in a sea of gangbangers and robbers. She wouldn't dare just get out and walk around, even in the middle of the day.

Still, on that day, she was happy. If all went well, she would be out of the Bronx and back where she belonged-at the top of the heap. Living on Park Avenue, working in Herald Square, and playing on Broadway. She couldn't wait to win her money back. That would be the best day of her life; she was more than ready to kiss working in the Bronx goodbye. It had been two years, two whole years. She had served her time, so to speak. Marian was ready to have her life back.

Someone knocked on her office door.

"Come in," she called. It was Rosie Turner.

"You the doctor?" she asked.

"I'm _a _doctor," Marian answered. "Um, where's your mother?"

"Work," Rosie answered, looking around.

_That's real responsible, _Marian thought. How could anyone let a little girl traipse around the South Bronx on her own?

She suddenly had a second thought about what she was about to do. If she was caught, forget about getting the case dismissed. She would be completely screwed. She _couldn't _get caught.

"How long do I have to stay for?" Rosie asked.

"Just for the night," she answered. She figured it would take that long to see what the drug would do, and staying the night would allow her to sleep the effects off and go back home hopefully feeling completely normal, her mother and New York's Finest none the wiser.

"Why?" she asked again. Rosie was only eight, but for some reason had a bad feeling about staying with Marian.

"I just have to do a quick test," Marian assured her. "Just a test. It won't hurt..." _Not too much, _she thought. _I think. I hope. _If Rosie went to her mother, or worse, the cops...

"Just follow me," Marian insisted. She led Rosie to a small room in the far corner of the hospital floor. Marian figured the chances of anyone walking in on her was unlikely. And if someone did, she had a backup plan as always: lie. So much for "the truth will set you free;" in the case of Marian Janssen, the truth would lock her up at Sealview or Rikers and give her twenty five to life.

Marian carefully attached several wires to Rosie's head.

"What do I do now?" Rosie asked.

"Hold still," Marian commanded her. "Then I'll do some tests. And then you can leave later."

She was letting her go. She wasn't holding anybody hostage. This was fine. Completely fine.

Marian pulled out a syringe and a vial of Roland ter Borcht's mystery drug. _Don't let me down, ter Borcht. This better work. _

"Wait. A shot?" Rosie's eyes widened in fear. "You didn't say-"

"It'll take two seconds," Marian promised her. "A pinch, and then it's over."

"I don't want any shots," Rosie said loudly. "No. No shots. I'll write a Declaration of Independence."

_Awesome, _Marian thought. _My first experiment in two years, and I get a little politician as a test subject. Fucking awesome!_

She grabbed Rosie's arm before jabbing her with the needle. Rosie cried out, shoving Marian away from her.

"I said no! No means no!" she shouted.

"Be quiet," Marian hissed. "That was nothing." _There's no way that hurt more than losing your home and all your money. Grow up. _

From across the room, Marian's iPhone rang. It was Chris Williams, an investment banker Marian had been dating briefly.

"I'll be right back. Don't move," she ordered before slipping out and walking down an empty hallway.

"Hey, Marian," Chris said over the phone. "Guess what?"

"What?" Marian asked, feigning excitement.

"I scored us two tickets to Foster the People at the Bowery," Chris said. "They're playing tonight."

"That's great!" she exclaimed. "Except...shit. I'm working tonight."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Well, we'll have to do it again sometime, then."

"Definitely," Marian agreed. "I'll ask around and see what's going on."

Her phone beeped, meaning she had a call waiting. _Roland _flashed on the screen.

"Not now, Roland," she muttered.

"Who's Roland?" Chris asked suspiciously.

"Someone I work with," she said. _  
_

"Alright," he said with a sigh. "I guess I'll call you later."

"Sounds good," Marian said.

At that moment, Rosie had much more than a bad feeling about this whole situation. She was feeling funny too; her heart raced, and she felt nauseous.

Urgently, she ripped the wires from her head. She grabbed her bag and ran out the door into the clinic's main area. Looking around, and finding no sign of Marian, she dashed to the front entrance and out the door, onto the Grand Concourse and into freedom.

Marian re-entered the hospital room. "Sorry about that," she called. "How're you doing?"

There was no response. Marian gulped. If anything actually happened to Rosie...

"Rosie?" she asked.

Still nothing. Marian ran over to the hospital bed to find it empty, the EEG monitor beeping away.

"Rosie, this isn't funny," she said. "I don't have time to play hide-and-seek." She nervously looked around the room. There was no sign of Rosie anywhere. How would she ever explain this to Evelyn Turner? Not only had she drugged her daughter, she had lost her as well.

Back when she had been the Director, Marian had a staff of security guards, called the Erasers, on call 24/7 in case a subject escaped from Itex. Needless to say, not too many people actually survived an escape attempt. Max Martinez-Subject 35-had been the first. Now was a time where she could really use their assistance. Luckily, she still had the number of Eric White, the former head of the Erasers.

"Eric White, who's calling?" Eric asked.

"Eric? Do you remember me?" Marian asked. "It's Dr. Janssen."

"Dr. Janssen! Hey!" Eric exclaimed. "How have you been? I heard you were working up in the Bronx. I'm doing security for New York Mutual now."

"That's great, Eric. Look, I need your help. I seem to have lost another test subject."

"Oh, man. What have you gotten yourself into?" Eric asked.

"I just need help finding her. I'm at the Bronx Medical Center."

He sighed. "I really shouldn't do this. But...I told you I'd always help you out. Give me an hour, I'll be there."

"Thanks." Marian hung up, somewhat relieved. Erasers could track down anyone...right? And she'd stand a better chance roaming around the South Bronx looking for Rosie with a muscular security guard with her.

Everything would turn out okay for her. It had to.

Over at the 86th Precinct, Detective Andrew Wilson was enjoying a cup of coffee and discussing the day's events.

"...I was tellin' this piece a' shit, you got the right to remain silent, so _shut your damn mouth._" Both Wilson and his partner, Detective Tony Burns, laughed.

"Yo, Andy," Burns whispered to him. "There's a girl here."

In the center of the precinct stood a young African-American girl who looked to be about eight or nine years old. She was shaking and looked pale.

"Can I help you?" Wilson asked softly. She, for some reason, reminded him of the kids he had rescued from Itex Laboratories two years ago.

She nodded. "I need help. Someone hurt me," she said, before collapsing on the floor.

"Shit," Wilson swore. "Tony, call a bus!" He ran over. "Are you okay? What's your name? What happened?" He paused before asking another question. "Who hurt you?"

Before her eyes shut, Rosie whispered, "Dr. Janssen."


	7. One Hell of a Mess

**A/N: H0lla! It's me, and I'm back with a new chapter (: I haven't updated in a while because of my other story and school and stuff! (: If we are friends on Facebook, feel free to look at/like my prom pictures :D Also, I PASSED DRIVER'S ED! HALLELUJAH! Anyway, enjoy and remember to review! A review a day keeps the Whitecoats away!**

* * *

"Should we split up, or...?" Marian Janssen asked Eric White, the former leader of the Itex security staff, the Erasers.

"Hell, no," Eric insisted. "No offense, but you're a skinny white girl from Manhattan. You might as well wear a neon sign around here."

If the situation hadn't been so terrible, Marian would've laughed. She did look quite out of place, in a lab coat, pastel pink shirtdress and black heels. But instead, she wanted to cry, or scream. Here she was, trying to make things better for herself and everything went to shit.

"Where would she go?" Eric asked.

"I don't know."

The two of them walked farther down the street. Eric and Marian peered into an alley, only to find a disheveled-looking man injecting himself with heroin.

"Holy shit!" Marian exclaimed, backing away. The man looked up.

"H-hey. What you lookin' at?" he slurred, stumbling towards them.

"Come on. Let's get outta here." Eric led her out of the alley. They sped-walked away.

"What am I _doing _here?" Marian demanded. "I shouldn't be here at all! I shouldn't even work here! I don't belong here."

"It's okay," Eric said. "You're definitely not the South Bronx type. Nobody would mistake you for a local."

"They better not," Marian insisted.

Eric sighed, looking around at the streets. The lights had just turned on, as the sun was rapidly setting. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Dr. J, but I think we're gonna have to pack it in for the night."

"What do you mean?" she snapped. "We have to find her. The last thing I need is to lose out on another research opportunity, or get in trouble."

"You said she lives around here? She probably went home."

_No. No. No. _It would have been better for her to be wandering around town. If she went home, her mother would quickly realize something was up. Unless, _wait a second, _she thought. Evelyn Turner had allowed her daughter to stay under the care of someone who had been arrested for kidnapping. If Marian knew these sleazy welfare parents as well as she thought she did, she figured Evelyn and Rosie's father would probably be passed out drunk, or out smoking weed or something. They'd hardly notice. And if she said something about getting a shot, well, who actually _liked_ going to the doctor's, anyway?

Marian sighed. "Well, this sucks."

"I'd say we're in one hell of a mess," Eric agreed. "Now, let's hop on the subway to Manhattan before the real creeps come out."

**Albert Einstein College of Medicine Hospital **

"Mrs. Turner, we need to ask you a few questions," Detective Wilson asked Evelyn Turner.

"Not now. I needa see my baby," she said, distraught. One minute she had been enjoying a nice rerun of _Sixteen and Pregnant, _and the next she had gotten a call from the police saying her daughter Rosie had been hurt and was in the hospital.

"Real quick," Wilson promised. "How do you know Dr. Janssen?"

"She's our family doctor," Evelyn explained. "Not real nice, but she gets the job done. You'd know her if you saw her. White with rich-ass clothes. Not something you see too much around here."

"You do realize she was arrested for kidnapping and illegal experimentation last year, correct?" Wilson's partner, Detective Burns, asked with a raised eyebrow. How could Mrs. Turner not? The Itex case had been on the front page of every newspaper and website for months. Dr. Marian Janssen was Public Enemy Number One in the whole tristate area.

Evelyn gasped. "What?" she demanded. "You're kiddin' me."

"Afraid not, ma'am. The doctor ran some blood tests; it seems Rosie had an unknown chemical in her blood."

"Oh, that fuckin' bitch better kiss her ass goodbye," Evelyn swore. "Anyone screws with my baby, they'll get it!"

"Why don't you leave it to us?" Wilson suggested. "We're trained to deal with this type of situation. Anyway, the doctor said she'd be just fine."

"You better have her in jail. And not in one of those big-ass fancy places in Connecticut. I wanna see her locked up in Rikers fuckin' Island."

"We'll do what we can," Wilson promised. "If you'll excuse me for a second, I have to notify the District Attorney."

He pulled out his phone and dialed Robert Chu's number.

"DA Chu," Mr. Chu answered.

"Yo, it's Wilson," Wilson said. "We got a 10-25. Suspect identified."

"Damn," Chu said. "What happened? And who did it?"

Wilson took a deep breath, before saying, "Illegal experimentation. And you might remember who. Marian Janssen."

"Well, well, well. Whaddya know!" Chu exclaimed. "Those perps just can't stay away from us, can they?"

Wilson could picture how happy he would be. Finally, they would have a white-collar, er, Whitecoat, defendant in their custody! It would be like 2011 all over again, except _better, _because they'd actually convict her this time! No more Sam fucking Greene screwing the whole case up!

"I'll call Judge Laurent, get an arrest warrant," Chu continued. "Wilson, you're fuckin' gold. You got that? You've really done it this time."

"Thanks, man," Wilson said. He didn't smile, though. Illegal experimentation was nothing to smile about. He remembered the look on the face of Gazzy, one of the victims from Itex he rescued during the police raid. "Janssen's probably in the wind. I'll page Port Authority, MTA Transit and the airport. If she tries to flee, we'll be the first to know."

"Awesome," Chu said. "I'm sure she'll just love to have Laurent throw the book at her." He snickered. "This'll stick it to 'em."

_This isn't about sticking it to anyone. It's about the law, _Wilson thought. But he didn't say it. There was no use. Once Mr. Chu was in a mood that the detectives of the 86th Precinct liked to call "Politician Mode," there was no stopping him.

But hey, if it landed another criminal behind bars, who was Detective Andrew Wilson to complain?


	8. Bumpy Road

All day, Max Martinez couldn't focus in class. Whether it was Introductory Statistics or History of the American Criminal Justice System, Max's head was elsewhere.

Finally, her last class, International Policy, let out, and Max walked towards Washington Square Park, the hub of New York University's campus.

She thought of Jeb once again. She could picture him sitting with his phone, calling and texting her. She wondered if he felt bad-if he felt anything-or if he just didn't care and was putting on a show as always. Call her crazy, but kidnapping wasn't easily forgiven in Max's world.

Max looked at her iPhone and sighed. She might as well get it over with and tell him to fuck off. So she scrolled through her Missed Calls list and selected his number, dialing it.

"Hello?" Jeb answered.

"Jeb?" Max snapped. "It's me. I just wanted to tell you that if you keep calling me, I'll be reporting you to the police for harassment. This shit ends, and it ends now."

He let out a deep sigh. "Max. You haven't changed one bit, I can tell."

"Damn right I haven't. Now..." She prepared herself to say the statement "fuck off."

"Just...just hear me out, alright?" Jeb pleaded. Something in his voice made Max calm down. "Please. I really need to talk to you."

"Okay," Max finally agreed. "Talk."

"You know, after the...incident, I did a lot of thinking," Jeb said. "I made some huge mistakes. But I think I've made some real changes in my life."

"What changes would those be?"

"Well, after Itex fell apart and I couldn't pay my rent, I moved out to Seaford on Long Island to stay with my sister and brother-in-law. The Williams's. I got licensed out here as a pediatrician and opened up my own practice with my sister, Amy. She's a doctor, too."

"Cool story, bro. Tell it again," Max said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Jeb chuckled. "I've seen that saying on T-shirts they sell at the beach. Anyway, I've been saving up some money and I'd like to move back to the city, if possible. I really feel like my life has improved. No more stupid decisions. I'm walking the straight-and-narrow path now. I've even been talking to my son, Ari, again."

Max vaguely remembered Ari Batchelder, Jeb's son. They had been in the same grade together, but never crossed paths until the Itex case. Then, they had formed an unlikely friendship, which had lasted until Ari moved to California to study economics at UC-San Diego. They hadn't really talked since, but she still thought Ari was pretty cool. You know, for a son of a kidnapper.

"Anyway," Jeb continued. "My point is that I'd really like to prove to you that I'm worthy of a second chance. I really want to be a part of your life, Max. You're an amazing person. You deserve to go places. I'd like to go out to dinner sometime or something, now that I'm in town for the weekend."

Jeb actually seemed genuine, believe it or not. Max felt like he might actually mean some of what he was saying.

"What the hell?" Max said. "I'm trying to be open-minded as well. I know a good Thai place, if you're in the mood tonight. I just have one question, and I need you to be honest."

"Honest is my new middle name," Jeb promised.

"Do you still talk to the rest of the Whitecoats?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I do," he admitted. "You know how it is when you hang out with a certain group of people your whole life."

"Are they up to anything I should know about?"

He laughed. "Hardly. Well, Roland ter Borcht, maybe, but I never liked that sonofabitch to begin with. Anne, well, you wouldn't even recognize her today. She changed her last name back to her maiden name, Stephenson, and moved to Boston. She just had a baby, actually. She works at Mass General."

Max tried to picture it. Anne Walker, the preppy-yet-evil woman who was the source of much of Max's trauma at Itex, now Anne Stephenson, walking the streets of Boston with a baby carriage. She couldn't do it.

"What about the Director?"

"Marian?" Jeb said. "I barely talk to her these days, but when I do, she just pisses me off. She's working as a doctor in the Bronx and lives in the Village. Hates it. Hates everything about her life. When we do touch base, all she does is complain about how none of it's fair. I bet if any one of us got in trouble again, either she or Roland would be the first to go. I can't believe I ever worked for her."

Max got a chill knowing Marian Janssen lived near her. Still, she shook it off. New York was a big city.

"She brought it on herself," Max said. "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time, that's my motto."

"I sure learned that lesson," Jeb said in agreement. "So yeah, I stay in touch with the two of them from time to time. But nobody else from the Itex crowd. I have new friends now. Law-abiding friends."

"Good to know. It would kind of defeat the purpose if you dumped the Whitecoats for a group of bank robbers or something," Max joked.

"It's been a bumpy road, that's for sure. But it's good to know you've still got a sense of humor," Jeb said.

"Well, thanks, Jeb," Max said.

"So, truce? Are we good?" Jeb asked.

Max took a deep breath. "Yeah, we're good," she confirmed. "The past is the past. No point holding grudges."

"Thank you, Max," Jeb said. "So, I'll meet you tonight at...what's that place you mentioned?"

"East Village Thai," Max explained. "Seven good?"

"Seven's great," Jeb said. "Glad to hear from you, Max."

For the first time in her life, Max could honestly say, "You too, Jeb."


	9. Look Who We Have Here

**A/N: HIHIHI! **

**I made a NEW and IMPROVED trailer for A Farewell to Innocence! It's based on the trailer for the new Great Gatsby movie (: **

**www (dot) youtube (dot) com (slash) watch?v=BkHZeuRgXY8**

**Also, someone posted this review on AFTI: **

_It was a good story and all but I felt like you drug it out as long as you possibly could have. This story did not need to be 41 or whatever chapters long. It was a good plot line though. Very well written._

**As I mentioned several times, AFTI is based on Tom Wolfe's book "The Bonfire of the Vanities." For those of you not familiar with Wolfe's work (and go check him out! Best writer EVER!), his writing style is very lengthy and includes lot of plot development and character development.**

**For more information: en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org (slash) wiki (slash) The_Bonfire_of_the_Vanities**

**Just as a comparison, ****The Bonfire of the Vanities is 690 pages. Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment is 494 pages. I wanted to follow the plotline of TBotV and then some, because I had to add more Maximum Ride-y stuff than was in TBotV (TBotV is only about the car accident part, not the whole illegal experimentation deal, plus I wanted to add Fax!).**

**Also, my personal writing style focuses on a lot of plot development, with symbolism, aspects of current events, ect. I am not trying to "drag the story out," just make it complex and multifaceted. Many fanfics these days do not have that level of development (and that's fine too). **

**Plus, there are a lot of political issues explored in AFTI. AFTI is about crime in New York City, economic strife, racism, classism, greed, ambition, illegal experimentation/biomedical ethics, corruption, liberal vs. conservative politics (pro-business vs. pro-public policy) the influence of the media on society, ect. Oh yeah, and I wanted to throw in a few police raids and some Fax as well. That's a lot to cram into one fanfic. Can you see why it's 41 chapters? **

**Again, my style of writing with super-long plots and lots of description as opposed to more action is not everybody's taste, and that's okay! We all have different preferences (: **

**But that's why the AFTI stories are so long. Onward with the story!**

* * *

Throughout her life, people had said that Marian Janssen lived in a perpetual state of denial. Well, she thought it worked for her.

_Rosie's not going to tell the police. Her mother isn't, either. She probably has a bunch of outstanding warrants, anyway. Why would any of them call the cops? _she thought.

Maybe, if she told herself that enough times, it would be true.

Her phone rang. It was Roland again.

"Hey, Roland," she answered forlornly.

"Hello, Director," he said sharply. Marian smiled slightly. Roland was the only one who still called her "the Director," though the only thing she was directing at that time was her own downward spiral. "How did 'de experiment go?"

Marian laughed ironically. "Not as I predicted."

"'De formula did not 'vork?"

"No. My test subject escaped."

"Well, 'dat is not good. Did you find it?"

"No. I lost her in the Bronx. Eric-remember him?-went looking for her, but no luck."

"Don't you remember? You cannot turn your back on them," he scolded her.

"I...overestimated how trustworthy she was," Marian admitted. "Stupid mistake. I won't make it again."

"Well, back to...how you say...square one," Roland said. "See who you can get a hold of."

"It shouldn't be too hard. Those people from the Bronx are _so _stupid."

"'Velfare whores," Roland added.

"Exactly."

There were three sharp knocks on her door.

Marian's stomach dropped.

Three more knocks came after, followed by an "_NYPD! Open up!" _

"Shit," Marian swore. "I have to go. If anyone asks you, you don't know me. Okay? We never had this conversation. Or any conversation. _Ever." _She hung up her iPhone and stuffed it under the couch cushion. Then she stood up, smoothed out her dress, and opened the door.

"Good afternoon, officers," she greeted the two cops that stood at her doorway.

"Afternoon," one of them said gruffly in response. "We're looking for a, um, Marina Janssen."

_Marina Janssen? _Marian thought. _Nope, not me. No Marina's here. _

The officer next to him rolled his eyes. "Damn, Smith. You're such a rookie. It's _Marian." _

"Oh. Shit. Marian Janssen. We're lookin' for Marian Janssen."

"That's me," Marian said. "What can I help you with?"

A new figure pushed through. A plainclothes detective. "Look who we have here. You can start by putting your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."

"On what grounds?" Marian demanded.

"Illegal experimentation," the detective said. "And aggravated child abuse. Looks like the more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?"

The "rookie" officer, Smith, handcuffed her. "Marian Janssen, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the state of New York. Do you understand your rights?"

"I do."

Marian wasn't nervous about getting booked or processed. She had been there, done that already. She was nervous about court.

Because she had the awful suspicion that she wouldn't be able to afford a lawyer.

Nearby, in the East Village, Max Martinez and Jeb Batchelder were enjoying a nice dinner of pad Thai.

"What's Long Island like?" Max asked Jeb.

Jeb shrugged. "Nice. Safe. Boring. Lots of cars."

"No wonder you want to move back here," Max said, laughing. "How's Ari?"

Things were still slightly tense between them, though the ice had melted significantly.

"He's good. He really likes California. The school he's going to has a really good economics department. Plus he gets to play soccer, which he always loved."

Max couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Ari was her brother, or at least half-brother. It was just so bizarre, all the twists and turns that have occurred.

"I just feel bad, you know? I feel like I drove him away. You too."

"You know, it's pretty hard not to drive someone away by forcing them to work at a criminal organization or kidnapping them for said organization," Max reminded him.

He sighed, looking out the window. "I know," Jeb said. "To put it nicely, I was a dumbass."

"Yeah, you were. But I can't blame you forever," Max said. "I think, at this point, the best thing to do is move on and focus on the future."

"I agree," Jeb said. "I wake up every day feeling terrible. But I feel like I didn't get convicted for a reason. Karma or God or whatever decided to give me a second chance at life."

Max felt almost sorry for him. She didn't want him to feel bad. The whole thing wasn't entirely his fault. It was mostly Marian Janssen's, and Max surely didn't mind if _she _felt bad.

Jeb's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. "Sorry, I have to take this."

"Go ahead."

Jeb put the phone to his ear and listened. "Marian? Where are you?"

Max felt a chill. _Marian. _She only knew one person named Marian.

He paused. "Mother of God. Okay, calm down-I said _calm down. _I'm not going to sit here and listen to you-no , I'm not mad, I just-what happened?"

Another pause.

"Holy shit," he swore. "Why? Why'd you do that?"

Max could vaguely hear a woman shouting on the other end.

"Don't run the 'I'm the all-powerful Director' bullshit. You're not the Director anymore. You can't pull that crap. Well, I'll see if I can get you some help. Hang in there."

Jeb hung up.

"Marian, huh?" Max demanded. "You told me-"

"Max, she's in jail again." Jeb put his face into his hands.

"For what?"

"Illegal experimentation," Jeb said quietly. "So much for moving on, I guess."

"Are you going to bail her out? Because if you are, I'm not going. I don't want to see that bitch again," Max said defiantly.

"No, I'm not," Jeb said. "I'll make some calls and see if someone else can. But first of all, I don't have the money, and second of all, I don't owe her anything. I know her and I have been close friends a long time, but clearly she needs to learn her lesson. She's an evil person."

Max nodded in agreement.

"I'm serious about what I said earlier," Jeb insisted. "I really have changed. Even if _certain people _haven't."


	10. The Daily Defendants

ADA Rachel Kearney watched as they filed in. The daily defendants, or the "chow" as they were called by Bronx criminal justice insiders.

Most of them looked the same. Even to a new arrival like Kearney, she could hardly distinguish one from the other. They all had the ripped-up jeans, the sneakers, the leather jackets and chains and white T-shirts. Even the way they walked was identical. They all had the swagger of a person who just did not give a single fuck.

Up on her podium, the ever-imposing Judge Renee Laurent observed the scene in front of her. She was ready for the day to begin.

"Docket number six-zero-one-three! The People versus Walter and Roberta…um…"

The poor clerk looked down at the paper, then back at Judge Laurent.

"Um…Sch-myel?" he attempted to pronounce. Technically, the name was spelled Schmuiel, but the clerk of the Bronx District Court had no idea how the hell it was pronounced.

The defendant, Walter Schmuiel himself, stood up angrily. "For the _last fucking time, _it's pronounced Sch-_meel!_" he shouted.

Laurent banged her gavel. "Mr. Sch-_meel,_ sit yourself back down right now or I will hold you in contempt of court!"

Kearney turned to her fellow prosecutor, ADA Carrozzi. "What'd they do?" she whispered.

Carrozzi said, "They both held up convenience stores all around the South Bronx."

"For what? Not condoms." Kearney eyed Roberta Schmuiel's pregnant belly.

Mr. Schmuiel obeyed the judge and sat back down, and the atmosphere of the court returned to normal.

"The charges are three counts of armed robbery. How do you two plead?"

"Not guilty," they said in unison. The "not" sounded more like _naaaht_, irking Kearney.

"People on bail?"

Kearney stood up, brushing lint off of her suit. "The people request five hundred thousand dollars."

"Any objections?"

Walter Schmuiel stood up once again. "Your Honor! Your Honor! Hey, Judge! It wasn't even my fingerprints on the gun! I gotta wife, gotta kid comin' soon, what do you gotta say about that, huh?"

Laurent sighed. "Do I need to repeat myself, Mr. Schmuiel?"

He sat down once again.

"I'll take that as a no. Bail has been set. Five hundred thousand dollars, cash or bond." She banged her gavel, and Charlie, one of the court officers, ushered the Bonnie and Clyde-esque couple out of the courtroom.

Next up was docket number 1104, People v. Trevor Dalton, who was a young black man from the Bronx River Houses project. He was accused of raping young Lydia Carroll, from the same neighborhood.

"My client pleads not guilty," his state-appointed attorney, a scrawny, mousy man, announced.

Again, Laurent asked, "People on bail?"

"The people request one hundred thousand dollars cash," Kearney said.

Laurent watched as Trevor's eyes widened. He didn't look like a bad kid, in all honesty. She had seen worse. Even fucking Jeb Batchelder had been more of a piece a' shit then this kid. To Renee Laurent, Trevor looked like a boy from the wrong part of town in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Young man, do you understand the charges brought against you?" she asked sternly, watching him practically tremble. Laurent knew he was probably very scared. She was notorious around the Bronx as the toughest judge. Nobody wanted to get her assigned to their case.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, out of fear of saying the wrong thing. Finally, he shook his head.

"This case isn't small potatoes," Laurent continued. "Rape is no joke. I take these kinds of things very seriously."

He stayed silent.

"Now, I don't think you're a bad kid. But what are you doing getting mixed up in this bullshit?" she demanded. "Stay in school. Get a good education. Stay out of trouble. That's all we ask of you."

"It wasn't even me," Trevor said, a lone tear falling down his face. "I didn't have nothin' to do with no rape."

Laurent sighed. As with Alfonso Rodriguez, the DA's office really didn't have a case against Trevor. She banged her gavel. "Based on the lack of evidence, I am hereby dismissing this case." She looked the youth in the eyes. "Now, go home," she ordered him. "Go home, and be a good person."

Kearney flipped through the day's case file. She stopped on a name. Her eyes widened.

Nudging Carrozzi, she whispered, "Hey. Check it out."

Carrozzi's eyes widened equally as much. "Jesus. Is this a fucking joke?"

On the paper were the words:

_Docket no. 3471_

_Defendant: Janssen, Marian Elizabeth _

_Charges: 1 count illegal experimentation (2nd degree felony assault), 1 count aggravated child abuse (premeditated)_

_Bail status: Undecided_

"Docket number three-four-seven-one! People versus Marian Janssen."

The courtroom began murmuring excitedly. Even Laurent's jaw dropped a little bit.

There she was, sitting alone at the defendant's table. Marian Elizabeth Janssen, the Director, herself.

Laurent could tell she had changed from her former self. Her hair, once a dirty blonde, was now dark brown, her dress was wrinkled (something she would never let occur in the past), her eyes looked sunken, and she had lost weight (not that she had much to lose in the first place). She looked, to put it simply, like a piece a' shit.

"Dr. Janssen," Laurent said, causing her to look up. "Can't say I've missed you."

Janssen glared at her. "I could say the same, Judge."

"Where's your lawyer?"

"He'll be here," she snapped.

"Well, he'd better hurry up. We can't start without him. Unless, of course, you plan on representing yourself, Director."

"I _said, _he'll be here." Janssen's voice wavered slightly. Even she, no stranger to a court of law, was intimidated by Judge Laurent.

As if on cue, the courtroom doors opened. A short, Jewish man in a black suit walked in. His facial expression was a mix of nervousness and excited anticipation. His name was Mike Bernstein, and he was a young defense attorney who couldn't believe his luck. This was his first trial, to be exact, and he had been assigned to represent Marian Janssen. His first trial, and he had the honor of representing one of the most high-profile offenders of the 21st Century!

"I'm here, Your Honor," Bernstein said, marching down the courtroom aisle with his briefcase and MacBook in his arms.

"Wonderful. Now hurry up and sit down so we can get a move on here."

Bernstein sat down next to Janssen.

"The charges are illegal experimentation and aggravated child abuse." Laurent paused to roll her eyes. "Glad to see you're still a productive member of society, Dr. Janssen. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Janssen said.

"People on bail?"

"The people request remand," Kearney insisted.

The courtroom fell silent. It was rare in the Bronx District Court for there to be a request for remand. Only in the most extreme cases did that take place.

"Please keep in mind, Your Honor, that the defendant has been accused of many heinous crimes in the past. She's a threat to the safety of the children of New York. If we don't draw the line of justice at illegal experimentation, the city will fall down a slippery slope of crime and despair. We'll all -"

"_Thank you, _Ms. Kearney," Judge Laurent interrupted. Kearney sat back down, out of breath.

"I'm setting bail at five hundred thousand dollars," Laurent said surely. "Given the _current _charges, and disregarding any past accusations, I feel remanding the defendant is inappropriate. In addition, given the fact that Dr. Janssen has a court-appointed attorney, she clearly lacks the resources to be considered a flight risk." She banged her gavel once more. "This case is adjourned. Dr. Janssen, may I see you?"

Janssen approached her podium.

"A lot has changed in two years," Laurent said in a low voice. "I don't have time to deal with your bullshit power games, okay? So if you were planning on pulling anything funny, don't even think about it."

"I wasn't-"

"You might, at one point, have been one of the most powerful women in the city. But I know how you people work. I've been doing this long enough to know that it won't fly around here. I didn't put up with it in 2011, and I sure as hell won't now. Do anything stupid, and I _will _take you down."

As Janssen walked away in shock, the clerk announced the next case.

"Docket number three-six-eight-three! People versus Carl Henderson..."


	11. Dupont Scandal

Nicholas "Fang" Ride stood in front of a group of _extremely_ curious reporters, answering questions about Mark Dupont. More specifically, the Dupont Scandal, as people were beginning to refer to it.

Dupont had been released on one hundred thousand dollars' bail, and was hiding out at his disgustingly large West End Avenue apartment.

This fact alone pissed Fang off. He was only the writer-only Dupont's client-and yet, Dupont had left him and John Abate (his corporate counsel) to clean up the dirt he left in his path.

_Who does he think he is? Marian Janssen? _Fang thought bitterly as cameras flashed in his face.

Okay, he knew pretty well that an insane scientist and a cocky publisher who happened to have a thing for high school girls were two completely different things. But at that moment, he didn't care. Not owning up to one's mistakes and creating a wake of disaster in one's path was quite a Marian move.

"Fang! What do you think about your book being published by a rapist?" a reporter screamed.

The reporter was talking about statutory rape, as opposed to forcible rape, which was viewed with a much higher level of contempt. But it didn't matter. When the interview was published, the newspapers would just say "rapist." So Fang had to choose his words carefully.

"I am both..._ashamed_ and _disappointed _in this turn of events," Fang said professionally into the microphone.

"Do you plan on continuing your professional relationship with Mr. Dupont?"

"I can't answer that right now," Fang replied.

"Fang, you're definitely not shy about your views on illegal experimentation. What are your views on the political impact of statutory rape on the city?"

For this question, John Abate stepped in front of the microphone. "We do not feel it is appropriate to discuss politics in such a setting," he answered.

Fang felt his phone vibrate. He secretively pulled it out. It was Albert "Al" Rosenberg, Fang's boss at the _New York Times. _

"I have to take this," he whispered to Abate. "It's my boss. He only calls me for emergencies."

"Okay," Abate said. He leaned into the mic. "My client will not be answering any more questions at this time."

Fang walked away from the podium, accepting the incoming call.

"Fang! Yo!" Rosenberg said.

"Al. What's up?" Fang asked.

"Oh, nothing much," he said. _  
_

Fang could tell by his tone that something big was definitely up.

"Nothing much, except one of the worst criminals known to New York City was arrested again. Take a guess at who's the lucky fucker."

Fang thought for a minute, his brain moving too fast to think of the most obvious. "I don't know. Bernie Madoff?"

"You're getting warmer. Think of what would happen if Bernie Madoff, Casey Anthony and Dr. Mengele managed to have an illegitimate love child."

He thought some more. Bernie Madoff had committed fraud and other white-collar crimes. Casey Anthony was a notorious woman accused of kidnapping and murdering her daughter. And Dr. Mengele was infamous for experimenting on children during World War II.

_Fraud...child abuse...illegal experimentation..._he put it together.

"Marian Janssen?" he guessed.

"Bing, bang, bong! We gotta winner!" Rosenberg exclaimed. "According to Ray Kelly, the NYPD police commissioner, she just made bail. Some Euro-trash douche named Roland ter Borcht or some shit saved her ass. We wanna get some reporters over to her place to get some answers."

"I'd have to _talk _to her?"

Fang didn't want to talk to her. He wanted to get the facts from Kelly or one of the NYPD officers or detectives. He wanted to write a scathing article, and never have to see her face-to-face. But going to her apartment? Interviewing her? That was too much. He wasn't sure he could look in the face of the woman who ruined his girlfriend's life without going all-out and beating the woman to a pulp.

Fang wasn't a fighter. But he knew how to protect the people he loved.

"Yeah. The thing is, we all know she's guilty," Rosenberg snorted. "We're not the cops. We don't have to be unbiased. And knowing Janssen, she'll fuck up and say something that'll incriminate her. And you're our top guy. We want you there as she circles the drain of the New York City criminal justice system."

"What'd she do this time, anyway?"

"Kelly told me she tried to test some drug on an eight-year-old from the Bronx. The girl managed to escape and went straight for the cops. Good to see someone's got common sense in this city." He snorted.

"What kind of drug?"

"I don't have the full story yet. The cops'll release it later. But like I said, I want you there, Ride. You gotta do this."

_I can do this. I'm a reporter, _Fang told himself. "Alright, Al. What's her address?"

"590 Waverly. In the Village."

Fang knew where that was, right near NYU. Great, Janssen was living near his girlfriend. Just great.

"Alright, man," Fang sighed. "I'll hail a cab now."

**590 Waverly Place**

Fang noticed after arriving at _chez _Janssen that he wasn't alone. Paparazzi-damn amateurs! Children, with cameras!-swarmed the area, eager for any shot they could get of the notorious Dr. Janssen.

Once the cab containing Marian and her "Euro-trash" savior pulled up to the curb, it got even worse. The reporters rushed to the door, blocking her exit and snapping photos.

_"Aaay! Marian! Back in jail, are we?" _

_"What's your problem? Why you gotta do that shit, huh?" _

_"We want the truth!" _

Fang took a different approach. He entered the apartment building itself, hiding behind the stairwell.

From that particular vantage point, he watched as Marian shook the hand of Mr. Euro-trash Douche and entered the building.

"Assholes! Get away from me!" she shrieked, locking the doors behind her.

Fang peered out, watching as she sat down on the stairwell and put her face in her hands.

_Was she crying? _Fang wondered. No. She couldn't be. You had to feel remorse to cry. And he was pretty sure Janssen felt nothing, nothing at all.

He stepped out, waving awkwardly and fighting all urges to slap her across the face.

"Hello, Dr. Janssen," Fang greeted her politely.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" the former Director spat.

"My name's Nicholas Ride. I work with the _New York_ _Times_."

"Of course." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You're the person who launched the...jihad against me in the first place."

"I call it justice." Fang shrugged.

"Call it whatever you want, you ruined me." Marian glared at him. "So what are you doing here? Come to get a shot of Marian Janssen crying pathetically on the staircase? Are you going to tell everyone 'it's a wrap for the Director' again? Don't think I don't remember your style."

"I just want what everyone else wants," Fang insisted. "Answers."

Her face softened, and she smiled. "Reaaaally."

"Yes."

She walked closer to him. Fang could smell her-a combination of expensive salon shampoo and expensive perfume. Talk about living beyond one's means.

"Well, you can tell all your _fucking _friends they won't be hearing from _me _until hell freezes over!" Marian yelled. She then flipped her hair and stormed up the staircase.

Fang sighed before turning to exit the building.

Cracking this case was going to be more difficult than he thought.


	12. The Mayor Was Anxious

**A/N: This chapter features Mayor Michael Bloomberg, the real-life mayor of New York City. All information regarding the Mayor in this chapter came from my own research. I obviously do not own Mr. Bloomberg. **

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mayor Bloomberg," Laura, the Mayor's secretary, greeted him.

Mayor Michael Bloomberg, at seventy-two years old, had been running New York City since 2002. He knew the city like the back of his hand: the economics, the politics, the socioeconomic classes, and especially the people.

Over the past two years, his job had been made much more difficult with the Itex case. Thanks to the fact that the Whitecoats had not been convicted, the people of New York City needed a scapegoat. And what better person than the man in charge of it all, Mayor Bloomberg?

The Mayor still harbored feelings of resentment towards the Whitecoats, especially that Janssen woman. It wasn't like he was against big business-far from it. He leaned a little to the conservative side and was a businessman himself, having a net worth of about sixteen million dollars and owning the massive media corporation Bloomberg, L.P. He had even attended Harvard Business School. Clearly, he was no Occupy Wall Street, Coalition to Stop the Madness idealist hell-bent on destroying capitalism.

But Bloomberg was a man of the law, and a strong opponent of corporate corruption. So the fact that another multimillion dollar company was running tests on children right under his nose pissed him off. Even though he had two years to allow the situation to cool down, it still bothered him.

At that moment, the Mayor was anxious. He had just gotten word that Marian Janssen, or the Director, as people called her, had just been arrested _again _for illegal experimentation. Jesus, couldn't she keep it together for more than two seconds?

"Mr. Bloomberg? Is everything alright?" Laura asked from her desk.

He shook his head. "No, Laura, it's not. Check it out."

He reached into his briefcase, pulling out a copy of the _New York Times. _He flipped to page B4 of the New York News section.

_JANSSEN BACK BEHIND BARS, _read the headline. _By Nicholas Ride. _

_Infamous business leader and physician Marian Janssen was arrested again two days ago for illegal experimentation. Following in the footsteps of her previous actions, she reportedly injected eight-year-old Rosie Turner with an unknown medication in order to test the effects. Rosie, of the Bronx, suffered slight complications immediately following the experiment, however, police and doctors report that she will be "just fine." Said Detective Andrew Wilson of the Bronx's 86th Precinct, "We're definitely not happy to have Dr. Janssen back in custody. You'd hope these people would learn from their mistakes." _

_Wilson, the chief detective of the 86th Precinct, also lead the investigation against the now-defunct Itex Laboratories (headed by Janssen) after it was discovered that children were allegedly kept prisoner and used as test subjects in "horrific" medical experiments. One of the former victims of Itex, Maxine Martinez, was upset by this development as well, though she says that she is "glad we've got a strong legal system here in New York to shut these [expletive] down." _

_To complicate matters, the assault on Rosie may be considered a hate crime. Sources close to Janssen reveal that she is "not shy" regarding her outspoken views against ethnic minorities and those in lower socioeconomic classes. Rosie happens to fit into both of those categories. Police are currently investigating to see if the decision to perform the experiment was racially or economically motivated-or both. The NYPD is also investigating any possible accomplices. Emma Janssen, Marian Janssen's cousin, told the _Times _that "she's always had this friend, Roland. They always seem to be up to something." _

_Whether this incident is a premeditated hate crime or just an idiotic decision, whether Janssen is working alone or with others, and whether she is convicted or not, one thing is certain: this case definitely won't be taken lightly. _

"Wow," Laura breathed. "I can't believe it."

"Me neither." Bloomberg shook his head. "This is ridiculous. We've never had this much trouble with businesses here before. It's like something out of a James Patterson book, or a bad rerun of _Law and Order._"

Laura nodded in agreement. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Mayor Bloomberg thought for a minute before saying, "I'm holding a press conference."

"So soon?"

"Yes, Laura," he sighed. "If I know this city as well as I think I do, this case is going to make everyone nuts. I can see it already. Raids, riots, all sorts of attacks. You remember the Occupy movement? All the people need is one tiny excuse to fuck everything up. I need to stop this before it gets out of control. I'm not letting the city fall into ruin because some _doctor _decides she's the queen of the universe."

"When should I schedule it for?"

"Next week," Bloomberg instructed her.

"How about six P.M?" Laura suggested.

Bloomberg shook his head. "I was thinking closer to eight. That way, everyone will be home. The whole city will be watching."

Laura thought of the last time Bloomberg had tried to speak regarding Itex. He had been accosted by the public and ripped off of his podium by his bodyguards.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? You remember the last time..."

"This is different. I _have _to do something."

This time _was _different. Even if Marian had a partner in crime, this event was still miles away from an entire _company _committing such atrocities. Bloomberg could understand the anger with that case, but surely he wouldn't be expected to be responsible for every individual's actions!

"I understand," Laura said. "But-"

"No buts," Bloomberg said sternly. "Better to stop this thing in its tracks before it gets too huge. You know how the city gets. It's like a timebomb waiting to explode."

All Bloomberg hoped was that he'd be able to defuse the metaphorical bomb before it went off.


	13. Attorney's Prerogative

**A/N: So I started something that I think will be fun for you guys! A new, interactive web site where you can help solve the crimes committed in A Farewell to Innocence and New York, I Love You! Interact with suspects, witnesses and police, look at evidence, and read everyone's stories to help determine who is innocent and who is guilty! **

**afti-nyily (dot) webs (dot) com**

**I probably won't use it after a while, because I have a lot going on and will be lucky if I even get to update as often as usual. But you should check it out and help crack the case (; **

**PS: Only 2 reviews last chapter? That's pretty sad considering I read the real Mayor Bloomberg's biography just for you! :P Anyway, I love love love reviews, so if it's not too much to ask, review please! Plus I reply to pretty much all of my reviewers so you should definitely review (;**

**Love youuuus!**

* * *

Marian Janssen looked Mike Bernstein, her defense attorney (courtesy of the state of New York) up and down.

"So, what's our plan?" Marian demanded. "I hope you plan on being _on time _for the rest of the proceedings."

"Absolutely," Bernstein promised. "It was a minor slip-up."

"Well, don't do it again, or else..."

"Sorry, Dr. Janssen, but I don't think they offer refunds on court-appointed attorneys," Bernstein said with a hiccupy laugh.

Marian was silent for a second. The nerve of the little shit, getting sarcastic with her! Didn't he realize she could take him down in an instant? She was at least ten times more powerful than Bernstein...

_Was, _she quickly realized. It was certainly a humbling experience, being put in her place by someone assigned to her.

"All joking aside, I'm really glad to be representing you," Bernstein said.

Marian raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure," she snapped. "You poor representative of the state, got roped into representing me. I bet you have plenty of petty thieves and domestic abusers you'd rather defend."

_They're certainly a lot easier to figure out,_ she thought.

"No, this is my first case."

Marian froze.

_His first case. _

_His FIRST CASE. _

Marian was stuck with a know-nothing newcomer to the criminal justice system.

She thought of her old lawyer, Helena McConnell. She knew how the system worked. She knew how to play the odds. She knew it all.

And this guy, this short, dumpy dork of a public defender, obviously knew nothing. If he knew anything at all, there was no way he'd be glad to represent Marian Janssen. He'd be running as far as he could.

Marian laughed nervously, deciding to play it off.

"Your first case like this, you mean," she said.

"No, my first case overall. I graduated from CUNY Law in May."

"What?" Marian demanded.

"But I know a lot about the case. I read all the news articles and saw all the reports. Plus they made an episode of _Law and Order _about you-remember?"

She narrowed her eyes in fury. "You think...you honestly think...that what you see on TV is the full story? That's all-"

"...of course not..."

"-bullshit," Marian finished. "It's crap, cooked up by the _liberal _press in order to take successful people down to their level! They think what I did is a hate crime? Who are _they _to talk, when they spend their whole lives trying to get people like me?"

Bernstein paused and wrinkled his brow. "What you did? So you're saying that the accusations are true."

_Fuck! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack. _

"Not necessarily. But _if _I did it..."

"Look, it's the attorney's prerogative to know the truth," Bernstein said. "First thing I learned in Criminal Law 101. In addition, no matter what you tell me, I can't repeat it. You know what that's called? Attorney-client privilege. Kinda like therapy."

Marian laughed. "I haven't been to therapy since I was in high school."

"No shit. I couldn't tell," Bernstein muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he quickly said with a cough. "Anyway, my point is that I can't help you if you're not willing to be honest. I know you probably don't trust me, seeing as I'm new to the scene and you've been through the wringer more times than my grandmother's apron."

"What?" Marian asked.

"It's an expression." Bernstein waved his hand dismissively. "So, whaddya say? Are we a team, or not?"

"When you put it that way, it's hard to argue," Marian admitted.

She figured she might as well make the most of her situation. She _was _stuck with him, after all. It wasn't like she could afford anyone better.

But she still wasn't about to tell him the full story. That would have to come in time.

"If you insist," she sighed.

"I just want to know the truth."

Marian opened her mouth to speak when her iPhone rang.

J. JANSSEN flashed on the screen.

It was Jack, her cousin. She felt her face go pale immediately. There was only one reason he'd be calling her..._him. _

"Hold on," she said to her lawyer. She answered the call, walking outside of his office and into a deserted hallway.

"Hello?" she asked. "Jack?"

"Marian, hi," Jack Janssen said.

"Do you need anything?" Marian was getting more and more anxious.

"I don't. But someone else does."

There was a shuffling noise as Jack handed his phone off to someone else.

"Mom?" said a male voice. The last time Marian had heard the voice, it was high-pitched. Now, it was a different voice, that of an almost-grown young man.

She didn't respond. What was there to say?

"Are you there?" the same voice asked.

"Uh, yeah," Marian said quietly. "I'm here. What's the matter?"

"I want to come home," the boy on the phone said.

Then, three words Marian didn't hear too often: "I miss you."

* * *

**A/N: Who is the mysterious caller? Guess now at** **afti-nyily (dot) webs (dot) com (: **


	14. Revisiting the Past

**A/N: Howdy! Sorry I haven't been updating much. I have finals coming up, and because I missed at least two weeks of the quarter because I was sick, it's been kind of a rough time. So I've been trying to catch up, but I think I'll succeed in the end (:**

**Anyway, I'm a little sad right now! Several of my best friends are graduating on the 16th. I'm going to cry like a 2 year old, I know it. But that's a week away, so I'm going to focus on studying and the positive things for now (:**

**Read on!**

**Don't forget to review-more reviews=more love!**

**-J-Money (just kidding...)**

* * *

Something had changed in the air of the Bronx District Court/86th Precinct, and Rachel Kearney noticed it right away.

Mr. Chu was in a good mood. His mood could have been described as upbeat, cheerful, almost...chipper.

Mr. Chu was not a chipper man in the least bit, but that day, everyone could tell he had a little extra spring in his step.

"Good morning, Rachel," he happily greeted Kearney.

She was slightly taken aback. _Good morning? _Usually Chu's greeting of choice was a curt and brief nod, just a formality. Nothing personal, no frills. Just a nod.

"Uh, good morning, Mr. Chu," Kearney said respectfully.

Richie Carrozzi stood up from his seat and stretched his arms. "Someone woke up on the right side of the bed, huh?" Carrozzi said. "You get laid last night or what, Chu?"

Normally Chu would have been angered by any references made to his sex life; however, not that day. He only smirked at Carrozzi. "No, but I sure as hell got lucky in another way."

"And what way is that?"

Chu dropped a CD disk on Carrozzi's desk.

He threw his arms up. "What the hell is this, Chu? A mixtape?"

He shook his head. "It's a recording of an interview. Do you happen to remember Roland ter Borcht?"

"Wasn't he part of the Itex bullshit?" Carrozzi asked.

"You betcha. But he might have played a bigger role than we think," Chu explained. "This tape is an interview between Janssen and ter Borcht, when he was applying for a job at Itex."

Carrozzi waved his hand dismissively. "That's all over and done with. We can't prosecute them again, you know. What's this gotta do with what's going on now?"

"Just this hunch I have," Chu insisted. "I think Janssen and 'ole Borchy might be working together again. When Wilson took her phone, he was her last incoming call."

"No shit," Carrozzi said, looking at Chu. "We do know they're partners in crime."

Chu nodded. "ter Borcht, along with those other suspects Batchelder and Walker, were her head cronies back at Itex. Now that they're all free, what makes you think they haven't kept in touch?"

"Fear?" Carrozzi said. "You really think they wanna get arrested again?"

Chu narrowed his eyes. "Come on, Richie. You know how it goes with organized crime around here. Once you're in, there's no getting out. What they did-what they're doing-ain't science at all. It's organized crime at its best."

Carrozzi nodded in agreement. "True."

"Let's get ready to smoke these fuckers out," Chu insisted. "I've already got Wilson and Burns working with the NYPD's organized crime task force to get to the root of this."

He grinned. "They're going down. For real this time."

Chu knew he would be successful. He had caught his prey, the Great White Defendant, at last! The Bronx would love him again. The Mayor would give him the time of day again. And the people of New York City would realize he was a true defender of justice.

_Maybe I'm mayor material after all, _Chu thought. If he was Mayor, then he'd really have it all. No more Bronx grudge work!

Hell, a man could dream, couldn't he?

**Long Island Railroad**

**Stony Brook Station**

In a quaint Long Island college town by the name of Stony Brook, Jack and Oliver "Omega" Janssen prepared to board the New York City-bound LIRR train.

Omega, a fourteen-year-old boy, looked up at Jack, his second cousin of forty-five years.

Omega didn't feel much emotion, due to certain events in his childhood. And he was fine with that. Actually, due to said lack of emotion, he didn't really care one way or another.

But standing there on the platform, holding a suitcase and preparing to re-enter the world of his past, a world he had been brutally cast aside from, he was slightly nervous.

Everything had changed since he was young. He was no longer a child, but a young man. His mother no longer considered him her son. He had lived in the idyllic home of Jack and Kristina Janssen for so long, he could barely even remember what his life before was like.

At first, his life had been good. He was treated well, always told he was special and meant to be perfect. However, for a young boy, those were big shoes to fill. And even though his mother tried to mold him into what she wanted him to be, she had overlooked the uncontrollable factor of, well, human life.

To make a long story short, Omega was far from average, but he was also far from perfect, and nobody would accept that, except, of course, for Jack and Kristina.

As the rumbling train approached the Stony Brook platform, Jack Janssen turned to Omega.

"Remember, Omega, we can still go back. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

Omega thought before nodding surely. "I need to go back," he insisted.

"No, you don't," Jack told him. "We love you. And your mother made some serious mistakes. Mistakes none of us should be happy about."

"I know," Omega said, frowning. Why was everyone trying to tell him what to do? Couldn't they all see he was older, wiser, slightly closer to perfect? "This is something that's really important to me."

Jack couldn't help but wonder why. Why now? Why did Omega still consider his mother to be his family? Why did he consider her life to be his home? He wanted the best for him, not for him to be hurt as he was years ago.

"Alright," Jack said with a sigh. "Manhattan, here we come."

The two of them stepped on to the train and found two seats together.

Omega listened as the train doors closed with a "whoosh."

There was no turning back now. They were bound for New York City-and for revisiting the past.


	15. The Janssen Affair

**A/N: This story isn't getting nearly as many reviews as I'd hoped! I know people are reading this and you all love it because I'm amazing (; Just kidding. But seriously, REVIEW! It'll help keep me going through this atrocity that they call high school finals. **

* * *

Max Martinez and Nicholas "Fang" Ride had their first date in days the day Omega Janssen arrived in New York City.

It was the longest time in years the two had gone without seeing each other, really. Between Fang's dealing with his publisher's arrest and school, and Max with her own classes and all of the Jeb Batchelder drama, it was hard to find time for each other.

But when they met up at Washington Square Park, they were able to pick right back up where they left off.

Fang reached around her waist, pulling her close as he kissed her.

"I missed you too," Max whispered, giggling.

Fang smirked, lowering his hands.

"Hey," Max said, playfully slapping him. "Let's keep it classy. We're in a park."

"Classy is all I do, Max," Fang joked. "So, what have you been doing in the past few days?"

Max sighed. "Oh, you know. Classes, work, babysitting my drunk friends on Thirsty Thursday and Fucked-Up Friday..."

She wasn't sure why she didn't want to talk about seeing her father, Jeb. She knew Fang wouldn't like the fact that they were talking again. He knew she was smart, but he just wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. Most of the time, it was flattering, but Max had a good feeling Jeb wouldn't hurt her again. How could he, with all that had happened?

Fang laughed. "That's funny. I remember those days. That all ends by the time the real work starts in sophomore year," Fang explained.

Max rolled her eyes. "They all want me to join in, but I actually have to go to the firm on Friday and Saturday mornings. It's hard to have a grown-up job when you show up with a massive hangover."

Fang had only been really hungover twice in his life. Once, was after his high school friend Ratchet's eighteenth birthday party, and the other time was when he had gotten drunk during the middle of reporting on the Itex case two years ago. He had a few too many beers with an admirer of his, and learned his lesson when he had to show up at the Itex lab bright and early to report on a protest there.

"That's for sure," he said. "Have you been following the Janssen affair?"

Max nodded, shaking her head and laughing. "At one point, I was actually scared of her. Now I think she's just fucking pathetic, and if it wasn't for what she did to Angel and I, I'd almost feel bad for her."

"You shouldn't," Fang told her. "She knew what she was doing. She brought it on herself."

"Definitely," Max agreed. "We're learning about delusions of grandeur in psychology. It's an actual disease where people think they're more powerful than they are."

"Sounds like Marian to me," Fang said. "Oh, sorry, the Director," he corrected himself in a snobby falsetto.

The two burst out laughing.

"What about Dupont?" Max asked.

Fang grew quieter, almost like his old self. "I don't really want to talk about it," he muttered. "Sales already went down this week, and I'm scared they might drop further."

"It's not you," Max insisted, rubbing her boyfriend's back. "Maybe something new came out. That's how it is in the publishing industry."

"My sales analyst said sales _shouldn't _go down, though. Especially since Marian got arrested again. This is all _him. _Nobody wants to support an alleged rapist."

Max sighed, not sure what to say. Before she could, though, she was approached by a younger boy. He looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old.

"Uh, hi," he greeted Max, his voice sounding cool and flat.

"Hi there!" Max said cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

"Where's Waverly Place?"

"Walk a block west, take a left, and it'll be right there," Max informed the kid.

"Thanks," he said in the same tone, walking away.

The boy was Omega, and he was going to speak to his mother, Marian Janssen, in person for the first time in years.

He did as Max instructed him, walking down the street until he reached Waverly. He looked at the numbers on the buildings, finally spotting 509 Waverly Place.

The building was a little smaller than he was used to. It surprised him. When he lived with Marian, they lived in a sprawling Park Avenue top-floor apartment. Then again, he knew that his mother had been arrested and sued multiple times. That was never good for anyone's bank account.

Omega rang the buzzer for Marian's apartment.

"Who is it?" a feminine voice asked.

"Me," Omega answered.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, a buzz announced that the door was unlocked. Omega opened the door and walked up the stairs to Marian's apartment.

She opened the door. Her brown hair was held up in a messy bun, and she wore a casual yellow dress-again, slightly more laid-back than the Marian Omega remembered.

"Hello," Marian said with a nod, as if Omega was a business client.

"Hi, Mom," Omega greeted her.

The term of endearment shocked Marian. Aside from the occasional "Mari," an unfortunate childhood nickname which made her wince, when most people didn't call her "Marian," "Dr. Janssen," or "the Director," they called her a "piece a' shit," "bitch," "whore," "asshole" or, for the especially eloquent, "selfish-ass motherfucker."

"What-what are you doing here?" Marian asked quietly. "What about your cousins?"

"Jack rented a hotel room for us. Kristina's still in Stony Brook," Omega said, matter-of-factly. "I wanted to come and see you."

Marian shrugged. "Well, welcome to the city, I guess."

"Thanks."

They stood there in silence.

"If you've come all the way here, you might as well come in." She stepped aside, allowing Omega to enter the apartment.

Even though the apartment was small, and slightly cramped with all of the furniture Marian could afford to keep, it was still orderly and immaculate. Just like her. The place even smelled familiar, Marian's typical scent of rose-scented shampoo and Gucci's _Guilty _perfume.

"I'm assuming you'd like something to eat or drink, no?" Marian asked, coldly raising an eyebrow and putting a hand on her hip.

"No thank you," Omega said back.

"That's good," she said. "I don't keep a lot of things around here."

"Too expensive?" Omega wondered out loud.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," Marian snapped, the first remotely parental thing she had said in a while. "I'm your mother, and I raised you to be better than that."

"At the same time you kicked me out at ten years old," Omega said calmly, in the same matter-of-fact tone as before. "I thought things would be different now."

"I did not kick you out. We all agreed you'd be better off with Jack and Kristina."

"And 'we' being you and your co-workers, not me."

"I overestimated you," Marian said.

Omega felt emotional for the first time in the conversation. "Man, you really haven't changed, have you? Four years and two arrests later, and I'm still not good enough for you." He stood up. "I'm going back to my real home."

Marian followed him, struck by the sudden urge to get him to stay. "Oliver-Omega-wait," she insisted.

"So you can insult me more? No thanks, Mommy," he snapped.

"Please," she said quickly.

He reluctantly re-entered the apartment, putting his hands in his jean pockets.

"We do have a lot to discuss, don't we?" Marian smiled uncomfortably. "Why don't you sit down, and we can chat? I'll order us some Chinese food."

"I like Chinese food," Omega admitted. "And my feet hurt from walking from Penn Station."

"You _walked _from Penn Station?" Marian demanded. He nodded. "What is wrong with-I mean, you could've taken the subway."

"Could've. Didn't."

"Well, we can't change the past," Marian said. "Sometimes, the best thing to do...is to move on."


	16. It's All Black and White

Detective Wilson exited the Grand Concourse subway station and trudged up the stairs towards the street.

_Damn, it's cold, _he thought, feeling a chill in the air. This time two years ago, the weather had been quite mild for the early New York winter. Now, it was extremely chilly. Detective Wilson regretted not wearing a warmer jacket.

Across the street from the subway station, he could hear people shouting and chanting something.

_What is it already? _he thought. He just wanted to get to work and deal with the Janssen case without any drama or bullshit. He didn't want to deal with petty street nonsense first thing in the morning.

It was a group of people, mostly African-Americans. They were all holding picket signs and blocking the entrance to the 86th Precinct.

As he approached the group, Wilson could make out what their signs said.

One said, _No Justice, No Peace: When Will It Stop?  
_

On another, _Put Marian In Jail. _

Wilson shuddered. He knew this was about Janssen and the Turners-how could it not be? He had a bad feeling that the case was going to blow up like this. Any sort of crime that upset the sociopolitical balance in New York City always spun things out of control.

_Just like 2011, _Wilson thought. _This is like the Itex case. Different shit, same_ _city. _

He squared his shoulders in a manly fashion and prepared to approach the crowd.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Mind if I get through?"

A woman turned around angrily. "Who 'da hell are you?" she demanded.

Wilson flashed his badge. "Detective Andrew Wilson, NYPD," he said calmly. "You're blocking the precinct entrance. That's a violation of the code," he informed the woman. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to take your protest somewhere else."

"Fuck you talkin' about?" she snapped. "We got the right to protest, ya know that? The right to free fuckin' speech!"

"I understand. You're free to protest anywhere you like. But not in front of a police station."

"And who the hell are you to tell me what to do? White boy, probably workin' for that prick Robert Chu..."

"Ma'am, I'm a police detective," Wilson insisted. "I've been with the NYPD for over fifteen years, and I've worked in the Bronx for at least ten. I've worked in narcotics, homicide, you name it."

"And I don't give a _fuck _what you do...I'll tell ya something, Officer-"

"-_detective-_"

"I'll tell ya something, Detective! You all think we're the enemy, just because of the color of our skin, but I'll tell ya something...we protect our own around here!" She was raising her voice now, riling up the already tense crowd. People clapped in agreement. "The real enemy around here's got _white _skin...and her name is _Marian Janssen!" _

"Dr. Janssen is being prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law," Wilson insisted. Actually, he was becoming angry himself. _How dare they! _he thought. _They think there has to be this huge divide between us, between the police and the citizens. Well, aren't we all working for the same thing? Why can't they cooperate with us? They're right. There is an enemy, and it's not me. But you only see what you want to see. It's all black and white around here-literally and figuratively._

"Hey, man, she ain't even in jail now!" a man insisted. "You people ain't doin' shit around here! And I think you like it that way! We stay poor and get our asses kicked, while you all sit all up in your offices gettin' all the money!"

"We're doing the best that we can, given the circumstances," Wilson said. He tried to push through the crowd, but was blocked.

"You ain't goin' nowhere until you give us justice!"

"I can't give you anything if I can't get to my fucking job!" Wilson yelled. "I'll have you all arrested for obstructing justice!"

"Typical," someone says, shaking their head. "Workin' for the man up there, that's what's up."

All of a sudden, Wilson felt a blow to his head. He shielded himself as he was knocked to the ground by an angry protester.

_What the hell is going on? _Wilson thought. He felt blow after blow hit him...he was being _attacked, assaulted..._and he couldn't defend himself! What could he do...not only were they blocking the precinct entrance, they had to go after him directly.

Wilson felt a feeling of panic wash over him. There were so many of them, and only one of him..._what was even going on? _

Finally, the man attacking him was pulled off of Wilson.

"You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer," someone said. It was Tony Burns, Wilson's partner.

Wilson stood up, ignoring the searing pain that ran through his body.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Wilson snapped at his attacker. He even looked like a piece a' shit, with his gold earring and tribal tattoos. "A peaceful protest is one thing. Breaking the law is another."

"Hey, man, just stickin' up for the Bronx," he said, without a hint of emotion or remorse. "There'll be more of that if you don't get your shit together and get Janssen in jail."

Wilson glared at the mass of protesters, who reluctantly cleared away from the precinct entrance. The majority of them knew that they had crossed a major line with the attack.

"Thanks, Tony," Wilson said to Burns as he limped inside the police station.

"No problem," Burns said. "We've been partners for long enough. I got your back, man."

Wilson smiled tightly. "Like I said, thanks."

After handing Wilson's attacker to an on-duty officer for booking and processing, Burns pulled Wilson aside.

"Hey, I think maybe you should see a doctor," he suggested.

"I don't need a damn doctor," Wilson muttered.

Burns raised an eyebrow at Wilson's bruised and battered figure. "You just got thrown to the ground and beaten up by a protester. You shouldn't be out on the streets chasing down suspects."

"Why the hell not? I've been through worse," Wilson shot back. "This is my job. My life."

"Maybe you should just do desk duty for a while," Burns said. "Listen to those Itex tapes Chu found, look at some a' Janssen's documents. I'll work on cleaning up the streets."

Wilson was about to protest, but a sharp pain in his leg convinced him otherwise.

"Fine," he said reluctantly. "But just for now."

He sat down at his desk, plugged his headphones into the computer, and turned on the first recording, preparing himself to hear the not-so-secret life of Marian Janssen.

_"Good morning, Dr. ter Borcht..."_


	17. Untrustworthy

**A/N: So in the process of doing research for this story, I was watching a documentary called "Lock Up: The Prisoners of Rikers Island" (a jail in NYC). All I can say is, wow. Scary shit. Moral of the story is, don't experiment on children like the Whitecoats or murder people or anything stupid or you are in for an...interesting future. But why would any of you do that? (:0 **

**Also, IT'S SUMMER! YAYAYAYAYAY! **

**Read on** **(:**

* * *

"I brought the food," Max said, entering Fang's apartment.

Fang stood up from his couch and raised an eyebrow at Max's Gristedes bag. "Who's planning on cooking? You?" He laughed.

Max punched him lightly. "Shut up."

"You can't cook for shit," Fang reminded her. "You even told me you didn't cook the first time you stayed here."

Max took the contents out of the bag, a big box of mac and cheese. "I'm not cooking. Kraft is."

"Much better idea," Fang said. "Damn. I haven't had that in years."

Max smiled. "Well, it's your lucky day, I guess."

Unusually, there was some tension between the two. Things just felt...off somehow, not as good as they normally were.

"Not really," he sighed, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"More stupid shit."

The two sat in silence for a minute, neither person knowing what to say.

_As much as I love him, does he have to be so goddamn quiet all the time? _Max thought.

"I'll go start the pasta," she said, heading into the kitchen.

She heard her phone ring from the other room.

"Just answer it. If it's my roommate, tell her I'm with you," Max called.

Fang answered the call.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You're not Max," the man on the other end said, surprised.

"No shit," Fang snorted. "Who is this?"

"This is Max's father, Jeb," Jeb Batchelder replied.

Fang's heart immediately beat faster. Jeb? What was _Jeb _doing, still calling Max? Max had told him she took care of things with him...what was his problem?

"Yeah, well, you need to stop calling," Fang snapped. "You're a loser, and a liar, and you're a criminal, so why would Max want to talk to you?"

Jeb paused. "I'm sure you're a fine young man, Mister..."

"Ride. Nicholas Ride."

"Well, of course, _you_ would feel that way," Jeb answered, remembering who exactly Nicholas Ride was. "Look, I know you and I haven't had such a great past together, as with Max and I. But you're mistaken. Max and I decided to move on from the past and try to spend some time together. You know, you're supposed to be looking for the unbiased truth, as a reporter and all."

"The unbiased truth is that you kidnapped her to experiment on her. You didn't care about her at all, even when she was born! The only reason you had her in the first place is to have another guinea pig for that creepy-ass company!" Fang yelled. "You _admitted _to it! We all know what happened! So why are you suddenly Dad of the Year?"

Max rushed into the living room. "Fang, who are you talking to?" she demanded.

"None other than Jeb Batchelder," Fang spat. "The sonofabitch is trying to convince me he cares about you."

"Fang, cut it out," Max snapped. "He really has changed. He's working a new job, has a new group of friends, he's really trying to turn his life around."

"I really am," Jeb pleaded over the phone, as if he was there in person, trying to stave off the inevitable battle.

"I don't believe you," Fang snapped into the phone. He ended the call, putting the phone down on his coffee table.

"Why'd you do that? That's my fucking _father,_" Max insisted.

"Are you kidding me? He's completely untrustworthy! I can't believe you of all people are still talking to him," Fang said.

"We had dinner the other night, and I honestly didn't believe him at first, but I'm sure he's telling the truth," Max insisted. "I can tell when people are lying, and when they're genuine, and I really think he's trying."

"Trying or not, it doesn't change what he did! You're putting yourself in such an unsafe position. If the Director can go back to her old ways, so can Jeb."

"I know what I'm doing, Fang!" Max yelled. "I'm sorry, but I'm not some helpless high school girl locked in a lab in Midtown anymore. I'm an adult, believe it or not. I have a job, I go to school, just like you! I think I'm _qualified _to make my own decision as to whether or not I should see my own damn father!"

"Can't you see he's using you?" Fang demanded. "I don't know how, or why. But that man is bad news, Max. I knew it from day one, when I first heard about the car accident in the Bronx."

"And that was, what? Two years ago? People change," Max insisted. "You're just too close-minded to see it. People do change. The world isn't some awful place."

"_People _change, but not Whitecoats," Fang said.

"The Whitecoats don't even exist anymore! Itex went out of business when Marian got sued, remember? And what she did is just Marian being Marian. Jeb's not anything like her."

"Then why the fuck would he work for her for over ten years?" Fang snapped.

"I don't know! But that was a long time ago," Max said. "Why is this even your business? Why do you care about my life so much?"

He sighed. "Because..."

"Why?" Max demanded, louder.

"I love you, Max."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Fang reached for Max and held her close, kissing her.

"I love you too," Max repeated. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Nothing else was said for the remainder of the evening. Fang passionately kissed Max, before the two made love as if there wasn't a war brewing outside of the apartment, as if Jeb wasn't back, as if everything in the world was perfect.

Afterwards, they slept peacefully curled in each others' arms, until they were both woken up by the sound of blaring sirens rushing down their block.


	18. The Cops Don't Give a Damn

**A/N: HI GUYS! Okay, so I've fallen WAAAAY behind on my updating schedule. It seems that when I have so much non-writing stuff to do, I update like crazy, but now that I'm on vacation, I don't update as much. Well, I will try to update every day if possible (: **

**Oh, and I FINALLY GOT MY HANDS ON A COPY OF A MAN IN FULL (Tom Wolfe's other novel). I was in Harvard Square in Boston and it was the last copy and I was SO HAPPY to have found a bookstore that has Tom Wolfe books! Literature is NOT dead! If you guys are into political books, read Bonfire of the Vanities (which AFTI is based on) and A Man In Full (which this story is based on). You'll love 'em! **

**Anyway, stay classy and don't forget to review (; **

* * *

Over the past few days, Mark Dupont's level of personal grooming had fallen way down. His Oxford shirt, which would normally be pressed, starched and ironed to perfection, was wrinkled with the top button undone. His pants were too short. He was sporting a hint of five-o-clock shadow. Even his socks didn't match. That morning, upon discovering he was missing a gray sock, he simply threw on a white one.

Despite his natural attractiveness, the combination of his tired attitude and semi-disheveled appearance did not make a good impression on Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Carl Evanston, with whom Mark was meeting to discuss the rape charges held against him.

"Age 33, no prior charges..." Evanston muttered, looking over Dupont's file. "Up until now, you've had a clean slate. What happened?"

Evanston gave Dupont a wiry smile, the smile of a man who had seen it all in the criminal justice system. While he definitely wasn't as jaded as, say, Mr. Chu of the Bronx, he was no idiot.

"I don't know," Dupont said.

"Huh? I can't hear you."

"I don't know," he said, louder. "I thought she was eighteen, I really did."

"Didn't she seem a little...young?"

"Look, she told my client she was studying contemporary literature," Dupont's lawyer, the notorious defender and Cornell Law School alum Helena McConnell, snapped. "What does that sound like to you?"

"I understand what it _sounds _like. But the facts are, Beth Gibbons was only fifteen years old!"

"A very well-developed fifteen," Dupont added-his usual cockiness struggling to break through. McConnell nudged him.

"Don't say shit like that," she hissed in his ear. "Unless you want to be shipped off to Rikers."

Evanston smiled again.

"Look, Mr. Dupont, we're clearly not dealing with a major offender here."

McConnell thought of Jeb Batchelder and Marian Janssen-two people she had represented in 2011. Now _those people-_they were surely what Evanston would classify as "major offenders." At least Marian was. She was, after all, the mastermind of the whole scheme, the Director. And now she was back in trouble again, according to word on the New York City streets.

Jeb, well, nobody could really figure him out. After the dust had settled from the Itex case, he had just disappeared. It was like he was never there. People had no problem ripping Marian apart endlessly, but as for Jeb, he was never even mentioned more than once in a while, if that.

"I'd be willing to offer you a deal," he continued. "No time, a fine, and community service."

_Community service? _Oh, the horror! The indescribable atrocity of _Mark Dupont _picking up trash on the side of the road!

"That sounds excellent," McConnell said quickly.

"Wait a second," Dupont interrupted. "What if I go to trial."

"Then," Evanston said, matter-of-factly, "you risk getting sentenced to three to five."

Mark Dupont definitely had a decision to make-his dignity, or his life.

**590 Waverly Pla****ce**

**West Village**

At about one PM on that same day, Marian Janssen found herself sitting in a Starbucks in the Village with her illegitimate son.

"You sure you don't want any coffee or anything?" she asked.

"No. I wouldn't take anything from you, anyway," Omega said.

His cold, yet simple, words, were shocking, yet at the same time not unexpected. He had always been this way. And Marian wasn't one to judge-she acted the exact same way. Like mother, like son.

"It's not taking. It's a gift."

"Still," Omega insisted.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching people come and go in the busy coffee shop.

"How's everything going with the trial?" he asked her.

Marian shrugged. "Alright. I've got a bloodsucking DA who wants to throw me in the pen for twenty five to life, a judge who's been out to get me since 2011, and you know the cops don't give a damn what happens to me, as long as someone goes to jail. They like to make examples out of people," she explained. "It's all political."

"Doesn't sound fun," Omega said.

"No."

"Rosie, the girl's name was?" he asked suddenly.

Marian thought back to that day. How stupid of her, to think she could restore her previous state with one experiment! She had built an empire, and she should've known that it wasn't that simple. To think she had been so desperate!

"Yes. Her name was Rosie Turner," Marian said.

"And you basically did the same thing to her as you used to do to me," Omega continued.

Marian's mouth fell open. In all the years, Omega had never said a word about the tests Marian and Roland ter Borcht used to run on him. Not a word. And now, this, all of a sudden.

"Different circumstances," Marian explained. "She's just another piece of the puzzle. You were supposed to be special. We were trying to improve _you. _Rosie, Maxine Martinez, all those other kids are practically nothing. You have to understand that."

"But they're people. Just like I'm a person," Omega said. He wasn't able to understand the logic behind what she was saying. And he liked logic.

"But they were-"

"It's all about money for you, isn't it?" Omega interrupted. The scariest part was, he didn't seem the least bit angry or confrontational. His tone stayed calm and reasonable. "Money, power. Creating the latest drug. Buying the latest pair of shoes. That sort of thing. It all ties together."

"It's not _all _about money," Marian protested. _Although, mostly. It does make the world go round, after all. _She looked around. "Look, can we talk about this somewhere without all these people around?"

"Okay." Omega shrugged. "What about my father?"

"What about him?"

"I want to see him. Where is he?"

Marian sighed. "I don't know, Omega. It's been a long time since I've spoken with him. You know that. And I really don't need to be interrogated by my own son in Starbucks, alright?" she snapped.

"Fine," Omega said.

There was another awkward silence. Neither party looked each other in the eye.

"How long are you in town for?" Marian asked.

"Five days."

_Well, that's awesome, _Marian thought. _Not only am I going on trial with an incompetent sonofabitch lawyer, I'm going to have to play mommy for practically a whole week. _

"Well," she said with a fake smile. "I'm sure we'll have lots of time to find your father. Among other things."

There was certainly a lot between them that needed to be said.


	19. Voice of the Generation

**A/N: So, this is totally unrelated to the story, but tonight's a bit of a sentimental night for me. I was looking through all of my camp pictures (if you want to know what camp I go to, PM or Facebook me because it is the BEST camp ever and everyone should go there because it's so wonderful) and crying because summer 2010 was my CIT year, my last year, and I might not be able to go back as a counselor next year. I know this is so cheesy and off topic, but remember to make the most out of every moment you have with your friends especially when you're young. Live life to the fullest, take every risk you can (within reason and following the law of course!) and never miss out on a chance to try something new or have fun, because time flies so quickly and you never know what could happen. I'm graduating high school next year so shit's getting real and I'm going to be a literal adult. Sometimes I just want to go back to camp and have fun and not have to worry about college or jobs or anything like that. So like I said, if you're in the same position as me I understand, and if you're younger than I am, seriously, go have fun, be crazy, take risks, be creative, and don't let a moment pass you by. **

**Yeah...**

**Back to the story! (: **

* * *

Max and Fang stepped out of a taxi and into the bustling area surrounding Herald Square. In addition to the usual traffic of tourists and other pedestrians, the area was now clogged with reporters and police officers.

"What is it this time?" Max asked.

Fang looked down at his phone. Al Rosenberg had texted him the full story. Rumor had it, someone had broken into the building which formerly housed Itex Laboratories and spray-painted "FUCK WHITECOATS" all across the walls of the first floor. Break-ins weren't uncommon in abandoned buildings, but because the area was so heavily populated, and the building itself was still considered a crime scene, it was a pretty big deal.

"Someone broke into the School," Fang said. "The School" was what everyone called Itex, for reasons Max didn't even know.

"Why?" Max asked. "That place has been shut down for years."

"My guess is, someone was just pissed off and needed to blow off some steam," he said. "The person vandalized the whole first floor."

"What'd they do?"

"They wrote "Fuck Whitecoats" everywhere."

Max snorted. "That's pretty funny, actually." _Fuck Whitecoats. _Two hostile words-an obscenity, and a derogatory nickname, combined to defile the walls of a former corporate giant. "Did they catch the guy?"

"Yeah," Fang said. "His name's Brian Sullivan. He's from Astoria, in Queens."

The two approached an on-duty police officer, who was guarding the area.

"Whaddya want?" he demanded.

"I'm Nicholas Ride. From the _New York Times._"

"Yeah, I know who you are," the cop said dismissively. "Mr. Pulitzer Prize-winning author. They call you the voice of the generation, the man of the moment, blah blah blah. I asked you what yer doin' here."

"I'm here to report on the crime."

"Nothin' to report on. We had a break-and-enter and a vandal. Got the guy, public works is cleanin' up the mess now. Nothin' else to see."

Fang immediately became suspicious. Why was the cop being so secretive? Most police officers wanted the public to get the full story. At least Wilson and Burns and the people of the 86th Precinct did.

"Well, this area's a crime scene, you know," Fang informed him.

"You think I don't know? I was there for the raid itself," he said with a snort. "I booked some of those Whitecoats right here in midtown. I was here for the whole damn thing."

"Then what's the problem?"

The cop leaned in. "The problem, is Brian Sullivan's African-American."

"So?" Fang asked.

"You heard about the riot in the Bronx. Detective Wilson got beaten up," the cop said. "There are people protesting everywhere. This whole Janssen thing's really shaking things up." _  
_

"People _should_ get pissed about things like that," Fang insisted. "We need to stop these people. And public outrage is the biggest deterrent."

"Mr. Ride, you don't understand. They're turning it into a race thing."

"It's not really a race thing. The Director just cares about making money."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," the cop warned Fang. "A lot of the kids she kidnapped when she ran Itex were poor, homeless, or both. And it just so happens that most poor people in the city happen to be minorities. I'm sorry. I wish it were different, but that's how it is. That's how it's always been."

"But-"

"Look, you know how it is when people around here get angry. Occupy Wall Street, the Itex thing in 2011, Trayvon Martin getting shot, all of those things, people take every chance to get fired up. Especially minorities. Again, that's just how it is." He shrugged. "So I appreciate you bein' a good citizen and getting involved and all, but if we can keep this whole thing under wraps as much as possible, it'd be great. We're really trying to keep things calm. Bloomberg's even giving a speech about it in a coupla days."

Fang made a mental note to go see the Mayor speak.

"Okay," he sighed. "Fine. You're the cop, I'm just the reporter."

While Fang was talking to the police officer, Max stared at the building. She couldn't believe it had been two years since she had been there. Two years in that hellhole.

The building looked fine on the outside, like any other New York City skyscraper, but she knew better. She knew firsthand what had gone on inside those walls, been forced to live it and relive it time and time again when she testified in court and talked to police. Even the shiny Itex logo, still intact as if nothing had happen, made her shudder. It was like she was back in 2011 again.

Max thought of the first week she spent there in particular. Not knowing what was going on, where she was, why she was there.

_She was in a lab, or a doctor's office of some sort, strapped to an operating table._

_"Who are you?" she demanded, yelling at the man in front of her. He was tall, with blonde hair, wearing a lab coat and a name tag that said J. Batchelder. "What do you want with me?" _

_"You can call me Jeb," Jeb said. "Now why don't you calm down a bit?" _

_"Right after you let me go!" _

_"I'm sorry. I can't do that," Jeb said. "Really, I am sorry. What did you say your name was?" _

_"None of your fucking business, you...you shithead."_

_"Oh, for God's sake. Stop making conversation and do the test already," the woman next to him-Anne-snapped. She handed him a syringe. _

_Max screamed, despite herself, as the liquid was injected into her arm. She had no choice but to wait for it to be over._

I'm sorry, _Jeb mouthed, the last thing she saw before losing consciousness. _

"Well, no luck," Fang grumbled, approaching her. He glanced at her. "You okay? You look kind of pale."

"I _hate _this neighborhood," Max said harshly. "Let's get out of here, alright?"

Fang shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

The two headed down into the subway station, away from all the commotion and thankfully, for Max, away from memories of the School.


	20. Quite a Phenomenon

**A/N: Well I'm a little frustrated here. But just a little. **

**One review last chapter? ONE REVIEW? Come. On. People. Step yo' game up here! I mean I do research for this story and everything...I even borrowed my mom's criminal law book! Yes. I read an actual law book (; **

**Aaaah! I know people liked AFTI and I know people are reading and liking this based on the stats. So please, please, even if it's just a quick one-liner, at least review! Please? I'll bake you cookies :D**

**On that note, thanks to TheCatWithTheHat for being a faithful reviewer. You're a, um, cool cat (cringes at the cheesiness). **

**Enjoy the chapter (: **

**PS: For future reference, the acronym WASP means white Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Basically 90% of Park Avenue. **

* * *

"Okay. We've got our first court date tomorrow, so we've gotta go in strong, stay strong, and come out strong," Mike Bernstein advised Marian Janssen, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Marian rolled her eyes. "One, two, three. Go team!" she cheered sarcastically.

"I'm serious, Dr. Janssen," Bernstein insisted. "We're not gonna win this thing if we don't have a plan. Remember, you just have to create a reasonable doubt in _one _juror. One juror, that's all. Then, the case gets dismissed."

Truth be told, Marian hadn't much given too much thought to the case. Her mind had been elsewhere, on other things. And other people. Omega, her son. Jack Janssen, her cousin. Roland ter Borcht, her partner in crime since...well, since he first came to America, really. And Jeb Batchelder.

Jeb, ever the bearer of the moral compass, had warned Marian not to use her son in any experiments, even though he had almost done the same thing with Max. He always had a gut feeling Itex was headed for trouble, though he didn't dare say anything about the matter.

But Marian, in typical WASP Princess of Park Avenue fashion, didn't listen. At that point, she was already one of the most powerful women in town. She had been part of a new generation of young, hip, female CEO's; it was quite a phenomenon, her rise to the top. And she didn't take orders from anyone, even her confidant Jeb. She would use whatever and whoever she wanted to get to the top. Including her own and other people's children. As for the few who stood against her? Well, she could take care of _them. _After all, that was what being the Director was all about. Bribery, illegal experimentation, kidnapping, even murder...no crime was below her. Until she was arrested. And arrested again.

Now, she didn't control the city. The city controlled her, including that Ray Kelly, the NYPD police commissioner, and Mayor Bloomberg. At least, they tried to.

"You're right," she suddenly said in agreement. "We really need to show them that they can't stop me."

He frowned. "Um, I was thinking the opposite," he said. "I don't think intimidation will work real well in the Bronx District Court. Especially since you've got Laurent. If you had Judge Conrad or Judge Willis, I'd think differently. But Laurent's seen it all, from what I've heard. All of my co-workers say she's the baddest bitch in town. No, Dr. Janssen, you're going to have to play by the rules. And then some."

"Well, what are the rules?" she asked, exasperated. "Tell me. What do I need to do to make them take my side?"

Her phone began ringing. It was Jack again. _Damn it!_

"Excuse me," she said, answering the call.

"Marian, it's Jack," Jack said.

"I know. I'm meeting with my lawyer."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but Omega's been talking about seeing his father."

"Jack, we've been through this before," Marian snapped.

"Just give me an address or a cell phone number. You don't have to say a word to him."

"I can't," she insisted. "I just can't. You know this, Jack. I've been over this a hundred times with you."

"So, you abuse and neglect him his whole life, leave him with practical strangers, and then don't even let him see his father? Bet you're happy with that, though. You really set a good fucking example, you know that? Good for you, Marian. Nice fucking job."

Marian rubbed her temples. "I can't deal with this shit, Jack. I'm going to court tomorrow."

"What about me? What about Omega? He came here to see _you. _And you treat him like he's nothing."

"Why'd you have to bring him here in the first place, then?" she demanded. "You didn't have to do that, you know. He's perfectly fine with you and Kristina."

"Wake up, Marian!" Jack shouted. Mike Bernstein's eyebrows shot up, as even he could hear Jack speak over the phone. "He's not fine! He's been seriously hurt, physically and emotionally. All because of you and your fucking power trip bullshit!"

"You can't blame me for everything!" Marian shouted back. "Before you start pointing fingers at me and my life, take a good, long look in the mirror."

"I'm not perfect, and I'm not pretending to be. But at least I'm not the one experimenting on children and calling it science!" he snapped. "Let me ask you something. Did your bank account keep you warm at night? Did your platinum credit cards help you out when you were having a bad day? I know they're just test subjects to you, but these are real people you're screwing around with. And real people get hurt. They get angry. And sooner or later, they decide they've had enough crap. You've already been arrested twice. What are you gonna do if and when you get convicted, huh? Do you really think your former position's gonna protect you in jail? Do you think you can hide from the truth forever?"

He paused. "Right. You'll do what you've done your whole life. Lie and charm your way out of trouble."

"Shut up, Jack," Marian spat. "You don't know anything. As for _that kid_, get him away from me. I don't want to have anything to do with him."

"Yes, Marian. Whatever you say, Marian. You're the boss, Marian," Jack said mockingly.

"You know, Jack? You're a real..._piece a' shit._" She hated herself for using the Detective Andrew Wilson-esque expression, but there was no other term that better suited the situation.

She hung up the phone, putting it onto the desk in front of her.

Mike Bernstein let out a long, slow whistle.

Marian blushed in humiliation. She couldn't believe she had said all that-in front of her _lawyer, _no less.

"Remember what I said, about creating a reasonable doubt? Making the jury believe you're a good person inside?"

Marian nodded.

"Well, let's just say we've got a big job ahead of us."


	21. Angel's Upset

**A/N: ANOTHER UPDATE? Less than 12 hours after my last one? Yep (; Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! LarkaTheWhiteWolf, welcome to the party! HeadOverHeelsInHate, I can't say I've heard any MR fan say "Poor Omega" before (; And Ari will return, along with Iggy and Nudge! TheCatWithTheHat, keep in mind all the OC's are important to the story (: But I'm gonna focus more on the main MR characters, and Dr. Gunther-Hagen will return! Remember him from AFTI? He told police that he stopped working for Itex once they got all sketchy. But is he telling the full story? Hmmm...**

**Also, my air conditioner is broken and my neighbors won't stop blasting the "Queen: Greatest Hits" album. Welcome to my amazing life -_- **

**Read on (; **

* * *

"Remember, your paper on the theory of American exceptionalism is due next Wednesday," Professor Nichols, the teacher of Max Martinez's US Government class, said. "And if I get one paper typed in comic sans, I'm failing you all," he joked.

The class laughed, as everyone stood up from their seats and prepared to leave the classroom.

"Hey, Max," someone next to her said. It was her friend Ryan. "I saw your boyfriend on the news."

"That's cool," Max said, nodding and forcing a smile. It wasn't unusual that someone mentioned Fang in conversation. He was, after all, one of the youngest writers for the _New York Times, _and one of the youngest Pulitzer Prize winners.

"You should bring him to Jenna's party this weekend," Ryan continued. "Her parents said she could use their place on the Upper East Side. She'll probably get trashed as usual. It's gonna be boss."

"Maybe," Max said, quickly walking away from him. She wasn't much in the mood for talk about parties, or fancy apartments, or booze. In fact, after returning to the location of Itex, she wasn't much in the mood for talk about anything. It was like there was a giant storm cloud looming over her life.

As she was exiting the lecture hall, her phone started ringing. It was her mother.

"Max, how are you?" she asked. Her tone sounded more than a little anxious.

"Hi, Mom," Max said, answering the call. "I'm good. Just got out of class. What's up?"

Dr. Valencia Martinez lowered her voice. "Have you been speaking with Jeb lately?"

"Yeah," Max said. "You know, for all that he did a few years ago, he seems to have really changed a lot. We even went out for dinner. It's kinda nice, you know, not holding a grudge anymore."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you two have been getting along. But there's something you should know. He came to the apartment today, looking for you-I guess he didn't know where your dorm was. He wanted to drop off a picture he found of him holding you as a baby."

"So?" Max asked, as she stepped out of the classroom building and into the bustling city street.

"He had a...run-in with Angel. The moment he walked in the door, she started freaking out and yelling at him. Angel called 911."

"Oh, no," Max said. She could picture poor Angel, seeing this man-the man who kidnapped her and held her prisoner for months-for the first time and not knowing what to think.

"He tried to calm her down, but that just made it worse," she continued. "Angel's upset. She's still very shaken up. And now Ella's upset too."

"I'm coming over there," Max insisted.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't want to distract you from school," Valencia said.

"I'm fine, Mom. I really want to help."

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes, then."

As Max hailed a taxi, guilt washed over her. This was _her _fault. She had a bad feeling about Jeb at first, but she made the choice to talk to him, to meet with him. _And look what had happened! _Her younger sisters had gotten hurt again. All because of her stupid choice.

She watched as the cabbie drove through the busy streets, through all the commotion of New York. The stores were beginning to set up their Christmas displays.

_How lucky they are! _Max thought enviously, looking at the people on the streets. Most of them probably didn't have problems like she did. They could go about their happy-go-lucky lives, while Max's life was thrown into turmoil.

Sighing, she handed the cab driver a ten-dollar bill, not even bothering to ask for any change.

"Have a nice day," he said as Max exited the cab.

_Oh, the irony. _

Max got off the elevator at her floor and entered her family's apartment, unsure of what to expect. In the living room sat Valencia with her arm around Angel. Two uniformed police officers stood in front of them, taking notes.

"The guy's name was Batchelder, you say?" one of the cops said.

Valencia nodded, rubbing Angel's back. "Yes. He's my daughter's father."

"In addition to being an alleged criminal," he added.

"Wasn't he the asshole that ran over that kid in the Bronx?" the other cop asked. "What a sonofa-"

"Would you officers like something to eat?" Valencia offered before he could finish the swear.

"Guys?" Max said, entering the apartment. "I'm home."

"How could you?" Angel shouted, crying. "Why would you talk to Jeb again? You know what he did!"

"Angel, why don't you take some deep breaths," Valencia suggested calmly. "You know Max didn't mean anything by it. We're all trying to make the most out of a bad situation."

"Are you crazy? You're forgetting what happened. My parents went missing because of Itex! My brother's dead because of Itex!"

"Angel." Max walked over to her. "Angel, please. He was dropping off a picture."

"Just because he's going through the motions doesn't mean he's suddenly this decent guy," she insisted, sniffling.

"Angel, we can all agree he made some really...pardon my French...shitty decisions. But I've known him for a long time," Valencia said. "He really does care about the people he loves."

"He cared enough to kidnap his own kid," Angel reminded them. She turned to the cops. "You better have him arrested!"

"We don't have the grounds to press charges," the cop said. "Just thinking he's suspicious isn't enough; we have to have evidence that an actual crime was committed. If you want, we can talk to the District Attorney about filing a restraining order against him."

"Just keep him the fuck away from me!" Angel shouted, before running to her room and slamming the door angrily.

Valencia turned to the police. "I'm sorry. She's very upset."

"I can imagine," one of the cops said. "Have you thought about taking her to see a trauma counselor?"

"She has a counselor that she sees already." She shook her head. "Poor girl's been through so much, what with her parents, being kidnapped..."

"If there's anything we can do for you, let me know," the cop said. "I'm Officer Dickson."

"Thank you," Valencia said. "Have a nice day."

After the police officers left, Valencia hugged Max. "I'm so sorry you have to be in the middle of this."

"It's okay. It's my fault."

"No, honey. Don't say that," she insisted. "You didn't mean to hurt anyone. We've all had a rough time these past few years."

"I know."

"I'll go talk to Angel. Make yourself at home. There's food in the fridge, if you're hungry."

"Okay, Mom," Max said with a nod. "Love you."

"Love you too," Valencia said with a sad smile.


	22. Crime is Never Acceptable

**A/N: I'm at my lake house with no WiFi, so I'm updating from my phone, woohoo :P So sorry if the formatting on the next few chapters is kinda messed up, at least I'm updating! Haha! How are all your summers going? Mine's going great (: I made a mad ton of cash doing random stuff around the house, now it's time to have some real fun! :D**

**On a side note, I was talking to my dad about this story and he said, "You're right. Jeb and Marian are real pieces of shit." And I'm like, "No, no, no. You can't say pieces OF shit. You have to say pieces A' shit! Preferably in a New York accent." My parents are both lawyers from the NYC area, so they've been good at helping me with this story, and putting up with me reading them tons of sections until they tell me to shut up hahaha (: Thanks to them!**

**On ANOTHER side note, Jerry Sandusky got convicted of child molestation! (: Yay for the US criminal justice system! If you couldn't tell by reading this story, I care a lot about stopping crime and whatnot, so this is really good news (: I just hope the victims turn out okay. Poor kids ): What are your thoughts on the trial? And on a funny note, who would make the better babysitter, Jerry Sandusky, or Marian Janssen (LOL)? **

**Anyway, read on…**

The main meeting space of the New York City Hall felt scarily calm, at least to Mayor Michael Bloomberg. Bloomberg wasn't sure what to expect on the day of the press conference. News of protests and riots had been pouring in from all five boroughs, especially Manhattan and the Bronx. He even had gotten word that someone had broken into the former Itex building, spray-painting "FUCK WHITECOATS" on all the walls.

The "FUCK WHITECOATS" incident was like the cherry on top of the metaphorical sundae, so to speak. It cemented how the entire city felt about those crimes. Bloomberg couldn't help but admire the public's opposition to illegal experimentation, but on the other hand, it kind of defeated the purpose to protest against one illegal act with _another_ illegal act. It just didn't make sense. Whatever happened to peaceful blogging, writing letters to public figures, or even making picket signs? Bloomberg just felt it wasn't necessary to retaliate in such a fashion.

Slowly but surely, spectators began to enter City Hall, eager to hear the words of the Mayor. Practically the first people to arrive were Max Martinez and Nicholas "Fang" Ride.

"Did I tell you what happened with Angel?" Max said to Fang as they entered the imposing marble building.

"No. Is she alright?" Fang asked. Though Angel and Max weren't technically related, Fang still cared deeply about Angel.

"Kind of. Not really," Max admitted. "Jeb came over to my mom's apartment to drop something off, and Angel was the only one home. Let me just say, it was a shitstorm. Angel flipped out and even called the cops on him."

"Damn," Fang muttered, shaking his head. "What a stupid fuck."

"Jeb didn't do anything, though," Max insisted. "He really was just dropping something off."

"Still, he couldn't have called first? I mean, if he's really trying to turn his life around, you'd think he'd put a little more effort into making sure he didn't traumatize people anymore," he said with contempt. "Call me crazy, but I just don't trust that man one bit."

Max frowned. "Fang, he's really not a bad guy."

"I know. I just want all of us to stay safe. I love you, Max. I really do."

"Love you too, you overprotective ass," Max joked, kissing him lightly.

Fang observed the reporters from other newspapers and TV stations walk to the front of the room, where Mayor Bloomberg was preparing to begin his speech. "I should probably go with them." He pulled out his tape recorder, notebook, and pen.

"Good luck," Max said, hugging him once more. "You'll do great."

Mayor Bloomberg approached the podium and tapped the microphone. The reporters were ready to go, and the various onlookers from around the city had arrived as well. The room was practically full, though the eerie feeling of calm remained. It was if the entire city was holding its breath.

Bloomberg exhaled and turned on the microphone. _Here goes nothing, _he thought.

"Good morning, people of New York," he greeted his audience. "I'm here today to talk about a very serious issue that's been affecting our city for a long time now: organized crime, more specifically, illegal experimentation."

He looked down at the speech written for him. "Unlike street crime, organized crime is committed at both the high and low ends of society. In the case of illegal experimentation, the perpetrators are typically well-educated, wealthy suspects. However, the difference between an illegal experimenter and a legitimate researcher interested in science is typically the desire for excessive financial gain.

"In those ways, people who commit illegal experimentation are no different than people who commit other forms of organized crime, such as mass drug deals or…or…" Bloomberg suddenly panicked, sifting through his papers. He only had the first page of his speech…the rest was _gone. _All the other papers of his speech, so meticulously well-planned, were _gone! _He would have to ad-lib the whole thing! How would he ad-lib a speech about such a sensitive issue without saying the wrong thing…he couldn't say the wrong thing…not this time, not ever! He was Mayor Bloomberg, after all.

He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, people who commit illegal experimentation are no different than mass drug or weapon dealers, or more similarly, human traffickers. Both types of criminals commit felonies in order to achieve financial gain. And they're everywhere, even right here in New York City, as we unfortunately learned in 2011." He paused before continuing. "I don't say this to scare you all. I say this so that we can prepare to defend ourselves against these types of criminals, and properly 'lay down the law,' so to speak. When the NYPD learned about the crimes that were allegedly being committed at Itex Laboratories, they-and we, as citizens-didn't ignore it. We got involved. We worked night and day until the suspects were brought to justice." Bloomberg chose to omit the fact that the Whitecoats weren't even convicted. "We fought back against crime. And we continue to fight back, every day in New York City. That being said, one must keep in mind that we have to retaliate against crime by enforcing justice, not by stooping to their level. A peaceful protest is an appropriate method of showing your dissatisfaction with crime. Other good ways of presenting your views include writing to public officials such as myself, or making flyers. However, we don't need violence or illegal actions to retaliate. In fact, that defeats the purpose. Why would you want to, in the process of trying to send a message against crime, become a criminal yourself?"

_And yes, Mr. "Fuck Whitecoats," I'm talking about you, buddy. _

He allowed time to let that sink in with the public. Then, he said, "What we really need to do is present a united and strong front. We need to show the criminals of New York City-and everywhere-that crime is never acceptable. And to the people who commit such actions, we have higher standards here in New York. If you find it too difficult to conform to the regulations set in place for your protection, then we have a space for you-at Rikers Island."

The Mayor smiled. Despite all odds, he had done it. And he had done a damn good job.

Now, he just had to wait for the aftermath.


	23. Tapes Don't Lie

**A/N: So I was doing some research for this story, and I happened to find a website with "real" Itex recordings between Marian Janssen and Roland ter Borcht, so that's what I'll be referencing in this chapter (with some changes) (: **

**Though it's slightly creepy that someone took the time to record all that shit, I REALLY don't think they're real...Marian, ect., if you actually exist in real life and are reading this, no offense intended by this story. Actually no. LOTS of offense intended! Criminals like you are the scum of the earth (: And you might not wanna try and kidnap me, unless you want a "friendly visit" from the NYPD, FBI, ect. (; Plus, I'll be singing Nicki Minaj and Kesha until you let me go, so kidnapping me just won't be a good choice. **

**In all seriousness, if you know people who really do experiment on kids, 1) you need to find new people to hang out with and 2) call the damn cops already! **

**Psh. Criminals. Who needs 'em around, anyway? **

Though still in recovery from the injuries he sustained at the riot the other day, Detective Andrew Wilson felt a familiar feeling-that he was on to something. He just had a hunch. An instinct, developed from years of police work in the NYPD.

And it had to do with Marian Janssen and that Roland ter Borcht guy. He had been stuck with desk duty for the past few days, and spent his time listening to taped conversations between the two.

That day, he walked (slowly, because of his hurt leg) towards the precinct, the words from the tape replaying in his head.

_Do you have experience working with...humans? _

_Not yet, Dr. Janssen. But I can learn. _

_Excellent. That's what we value at Itex, adaptability. _

_I'm extremely grateful that you've taken the time to offer me 'dis position. Especially after my...problems with the law back home. _

_Ah, Dr. ter Borcht, it's all in the name of science, isn't it? They just can't understand that we're advancing the world's knowledge. It's not our fault that we're knocking out all the competition. In fact, at Itex we have a lot of respect for people willing to take risks for their work. _

He wanted to punch the two of them in the face. How _dare _Janssen call breaking the law "taking risks for their work." Those Whitecoats really were no different than any other group of criminals he had seen on the streets. All they really cared about was money, money, money...forget human rights! Forget everything the leaders of New York and America had worked towards. That all didn't matter. Wilson was only glad that Marian Janssen had chosen medicine as her career field of choice and not politics. He couldn't imagine the shitty state the country would be in if she was in charge of anything.

"Aaay!" Burns said, standing up from his seat. "How's that leg doing?"

Wilson shrugged. "Still a bitch," he said. "Damn protesters. Doc said it should be back to normal in a week or so."

"The good news is, we've got lots to keep you busy with around here," he said. "We found another Itex tape. I'm warning ya, though, it's not an easy one to listen to."

"Eh, I've been at this a long time, Tony," Wilson reminded Burns. "I think I can handle it."

Burns sighed. "I dunno, man. It's pretty rough, but if we show it in court, I'll be damned if we can't convict Janssen."

"What is it? Someone gettin' shot?"

"Worse." Burns shook his head. "Just listen to it."

He clicked something on his computer, and the recording began.

"_Did you bring him?" _a female voice, obviously Marian, said in a clipped tone.

"_Yes," _Roland ter Borcht replied.

"_Excellent. Thank you. You've been very helpful through all of this. Omega! Get in here." _

"_Mom?_" someone else said. A young boy. _"What are you doing?" _

"Holy fucking shit," Wilson swore, pressing pause. "She's got a kid? What in the hell-"

"Oh, that's not the worst part," Burns said. He pressed the play button again.

"_Be quiet, Omega," _Marian snapped. _"And what about Jeb's daughter? Did he bring her here?" _

"_Not yet," _Roland said with a sigh. _"He's being very...uncooperative with 'de whole matter. It 'zeems, he feels bad about taking her from her mother." _

"_Tell him it's too late for that," _said Marian. _"He needs to live up to what he promised. No. I'll tell him myself. Lie down, Omega, please."_

"_You're not gonna stick that needle in me, are you?" _the young male voice asked, clearly nervous.

"_Don't worry. It'll only hurt for a second," _she said, laughing. _She was laughing! _Laughing at her victims! What a true piece a' shit!

The next thing Wilson heard was the boy screaming. _"Ow! OW! Mom! Stop! Why are you doing this? It hurts, Mom, please!" _

"_If he's too bothersome, I could fetch one of 'de interns to run the test," _Roland offered.

"_No. I need to supervise this one myself to make sure it goes as planned." _She paused. _"If this works, his memory and reaction time will be almost twice as fast as before. Almost perfect. Which is what we need. Perfection." _

"_Of course." _

Then, there was silence for a few minutes. Wilson could only hear the humming of the tape recorder. For some reason, that was scarier than the conversation.

"_Subject Omega is now unconscious," _Marian noted, sounding disappointed.

"_After he wakes up, can I monitor him for a bit?" _a new voice asked. It sounded like Jeb.

"_Absolutely not,_" Marian snapped. _"I left you in charge of all the subjects on the third floor, remember? Isn't that good enough?" _

"_I want to see my son," _Jeb insisted.

"_You have another son. Go see _him_." _She paused. _"And speaking of children, we need to discuss your daughter..." _

That was where the tape ended.

"Holy _shit_," Wilson said, shaking his head. "I can't believe it. So Janssen's got a kid...with Batchelder?"

"Apparently," Burns said, shrugging. "Tapes don't lie. Unless they staged this whole thing. Which I can't imagine. That whole Itex building was completely monitored. And there's no way that kid could've been faking it."

"We need to find this Omega kid," Wilson insisted. "And get him to testify."

"It might be a long shot," Burns warned him. "I mean, Janssen is still his mother..."

"You heard the kind of pain he was in," he said. "We'll get him to testify. Subpoena him if we have to."

"You're sounding like Chu," Burns joked.

Wilson stared at the computer for a full second. "I'll also see if I can get anything out of Jeb Batchelder and that ter Borcht guy," he continued. "This is ridiculous. What were they _thinking?_"

Burns sighed. "I don't know, Andy. I think this is another case of Whitecoats being Whitecoats."

"And what does that mean? That means that they're breaking the law and hurting kids. Even their own kids. What _losers._"

_You want to fuck shit up? _Wilson thought, fuming. _You do that. Experiment on kids, commit fraud, lie to everyone. You see how far that gets you. You wait. You stay on your high horse, thinking you're the best thing in town, all you Marian Janssens and Roland ter Borchts and Jeb Batchelders. You pieces a' shit, you stupid little fuckers, you'll be as good as mud once the criminal justice system's had enough of you! You think you've had some rough times with the law? You haven't seen anything yet. Once you get into prison, that's when the fun begins...the inmates, the guards...you think you're so tough? Wait until you're behind bars, and see how far your fancy education gets you! You know what they do to child abusers in prison...and it's not just the men's prison! The women are just as bad. You wait, you Whitecoats, you wait...but just don't hold your breath too long, you'll need all the luck you can get in Rikers..._


	24. Takes One to Know One

**A/N: Glad you all liked the last chapter! Um, interesting plot twist there (; Jeb really needs to get some self-control, I mean in this story he has three kids…with three different women! Jeez, man. **

**Anyway, my life has taken a turn for the BORING! It's been raining nonstop at the lake, and it's too far to drive into the city (Boston) so I've done nothing but drive around random country towns with my dad. On the plus side, I've finally been chipping away at those driving hours I need to get my license, but on the minus side…I haven't been able to do anything! My friends aren't coming up for a while (who wants to come up in the rain, anyway?) and the next party I'm invited to isn't until Sunday so I've done nothing but read and write and listen to music, which is chill I guess but I feel like such a loner ): So you guys should talk to me because I'm bored as anything! **

**Well, I found another Tom Wolfe book (I Am Charlotte Simmons) at a thrift store. So at least I have good books to read. **

**Commercial break over. Back to the show. **

Marian Janssen walked down the street-42nd Street in Midtown, to be exact, with her son right next to her. She noticed how much he had grown. He was almost her height now, and surely had more muscle tone…nothing like the innocent, vulnerable little boy she had left behind years ago!

"It's funny that you called," Omega noted. "We were just about to head back to Stony Brook. I figured you didn't want to see me anymore."

Marian didn't. But her lawyer had insisted that she at least pretend to care about somebody besides herself for once. Plus, she realized that she was going to be pretty limited in terms of who would testify on her behalf. She would have to play her cards right to get people to think she was worth sticking up for, that she didn't deserve five to twenty years behind bars. She had called Jack Janssen to apologize, and suggested that she take Omega out for lunch-if he wanted to, that is. And obviously, he did, or just didn't have anything better to do.

"Why would you say that?" Marian asked sweetly.

"That's what you told Jack," Omega reminded him. "'Get that kid out of my sight,' or something like that. I mean, wow. Thanks."

His tone still didn't change at all. Where most people would get angry or upset, Omega maintained a matter-of-fact, calm mood. Marian couldn't tell whether he was faking it or what.

She looked him over. His brown hair was styled in a perfectly messy way, and he was wearing slacks and a button-up shirt. He looked like a little investment banker, a little Wall Streeter-and where on Earth had he gotten that hair from? Marian's father David, most likely-yes, he had the Janssen hair, after all! In fact, he looked more like Dr. David Lawrence Janssen than his own father…there was nothing about Omega that resembled Jeb Batchelder.

"I didn't mean that," Marian insisted. "I really didn't. That was a terrible thing of me to say."

"It's fine, I guess. I've heard worse." Omega crossed his arms.

Marian and the little investment banker walked closer to Times Square.

"Do you miss working in Midtown?" Omega asked.

"I don't miss the tourists," Marian said. "But I miss my old job, yeah. I was…somebody then."

"The Director."

"Yeah, exactly," she said. She got a faraway look in her eye. "Those were the glory days, you know?"

"The glory days of crime and kidnapping. How many kids did you hold hostage at the School again?"

Marian began to panic. _Don't go there, _she thought. There was no good way to answer that question.

_Let's see, _she thought, trying to do the math. _We had three hundred test subject ID numbers in the system…about three died a month, and they were all replaced…multiply that by ten-plus years in business…holy fucking shit. _

Was it possible that she had been responsible for the kidnapping of over _three thousand people? _She had lost count a long time ago…she had the records, sure, but preferred not to dwell on facts like that…

"I think you need to change your rhetoric," she said. "Using inflammatory and accusatory language isn't helping any of us."

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't realize you wanted to play 'let's see how many SAT words we can use in one sentence.' But why me, you know? You could've done the same tests on any other kid in New York City."

"Not quite," she insisted. "I told you. You were designed for intelligence. There's a big difference between you and every other little brat in the five boroughs."

"Gee, I'm flattered," he said sarcastically, the first time his tone changed. "With your way with words, I just can't see why everyone hates you so much."

Marian was so shocked he was showing some form of emotion, she didn't even tell him to watch his mouth or anything along those lines…it was the first time in years he had spoken to her in any way other than completely emotionless.

The last time had been the last test she ever did on him. It had gone so poorly, he had fought back against her and even tried to climb out the window. Finally, she had to sedate him, marking in his file a giant "FE," for "failed experiment." And the next day, like the ever-caring mother she was, she had put him on the train to her cousins' house in Stony Brook with two hundred dollars and a suitcase. Marian had thought it was a good option, actually. She didn't have the heart to have him "retired," as they called it in Itex when they euthanized a test subject deemed to be a failure.

The last thing she said to him, before sending him off, was "You really let me down, you know."

Recalling that event made Marian uncomfortable, for some reason. She had never felt bad about it before, but now, things felt different. Maybe it was her lawyer telling her to act like a decent person, or maybe it was just the weather.

"Isn't that Max Martinez and Nicholas Ride?" Omega wondered out loud.

Marian looked up, her eyes widening. There _they _were-right in front of her! They were holding hands. Nicholas said something which made Max laugh, and Max kissed him on the mouth. It was disgusting, the two of them. She began to feel resentful once again-Max, after all, was still one of _her _test subjects. If it wasn't for Marian, Max would never have been born in the first place…and there she was, sauntering around the streets of New York like her very existence was a gift to the public. Like everyone wanted to watch her grope her boyfriend!

Max, who was enjoying a nice day out with Fang, felt her heart stutter as she recognized the face in front of her. Marian Janssen.

_Of all eight million people in the city, I had to see her! _

Her emotions changed from shock to anger to a sudden calm.

"Shit," Fang muttered, squeezing her hand tighter as if to protect her.

"It's okay," Max whispered. "We'll be fine."

She smirked. She had a plan.

"Aaaayy, Marian!" she shouted in a mock-friendly tone.

"Max, don't," Fang insisted. "It'll make things worse."

She ignored him. "Hey!" she shouted again, waving as if spotting an old friend.

Now Marian was the one panicking. She could hear her heart beating-_thump, thump, thump_-over all the noise of the city. She had been caught! At what, she didn't know, but now Max was the aggressor, the one running the show.

Max let go of Fang's hand and approached Marian, placing her hands on her hips. "What's been going on with you? I've been great myself, thanks for asking. Who's the kid? I didn't think you liked children, unless of course they're drugged up and strapped to an operating table." She grinned at the boy. "Hey, there! I'm Maxine Martinez. But you can call me Max. What are you doing hanging out with Marian? Got a date with Casey Anthony afterwards?"

To Marian's relief, Omega defended her. "That's my mother you're talking about. Shut the fuck up."

"Oooh, feisty," Max said, giggling. She wasn't even thinking about what she was saying now-it was like some other girl had taken over her body. "You should be careful with this one. He just might be your only friend around here."

Omega's statement gave Marian the courage to speak up. "You think you're so special, _Subject 35, _but you're a little bitch."

"Takes one to know one, eh, Mari?" Max said, elbowing her, even though being called by her old test subject ID number gave her the chills, made her want to run and hide somewhere.

Fang stepped in. "Hey, Janssen. You better cut it out with that 'Subject 35' bullshit, or I'll kick your ass," he growled. He put his arm around Max. "Come on," he said to her.

"Have a great day," Max said, waving again. "I'll see you in court!"

As she walked away, leaving Marian and her son (?) speechless behind her, Max felt a strange feeling of exhilaration.

_I am great, _Max told herself. _I am fucking fantastic. _


	25. Liberty and Justice

The design of the wooden conference table in one of the offices of the Bronx District Court was to put all of the prosecuting attorneys on an equal plane. Despite the obvious difference in political stature between the District Attorney and the Assistant District Attorneys, the room was designed to reduce that difference and make all parties feel equal.

Still, Mr. Chu ignored that setup altogether, preferring to stand at the front of the conference room, commanding the attention of ADAs Martha Lang, Richie Carrozzi, and Rachel Kearney.

"Only a few more days until Marian Janssen goes on trial," he announced. "The 86th Precinct's done a great job of collecting evidence. What our job is, is to use that evidence to our advantage."

"What about the other defendants going on trial?" Kearney asked. "The Schmuiel couple, and-"

"Don't worry about those," Chu insisted. "Defendants like _them _are a dime a dozen around here. Now, Dr. Janssen, she's a rare gem! We need to come down hardest on her. Really get on top of her and show her how we do it in the Bronx."

Carrozzi, forever a fan of lewd humor, snickered at Chu's unintentional sexual innuendo.

"Who do we have lined up to testify?" Lang asked.

"Well, Rosie Turner and her mother, of course," Chu said. "Maxine and Ella Martinez, Angel Adams..."

"Isn't that the girl whose brother was killed at Itex?" Lang asked.

Chu nodded. "Yes. That's the one. Gary was his name, but everyone called him Gazzy."

"Poor kid."

"Yes, it was a tragedy." Chu waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, they're all testifying. Detective Wilson too. But we're trying to find her son. We want him to testify, too."

"I think that's gonna be a tricky one," Kearney said.

Carrozzi was surprised at Kearney's behavior. She was no longer shy and meek, but suddenly outgoing, it seemed. And no ADA had challenged Chu's authority like that before.

"Excuse me?" Chu snapped.

The room fell silent. Nobody liked to see District Attorney Chu angry. He wasn't one to show any mercy.

"Well, I'm just not sure if it's a good idea to get her own son to turn against her. Doesn't that seem a little...controversial? I mean, with all the witnesses we have, I don't even think we'll need him."

"Oh, you don't, huh?" he said menacingly. He ripped open his briefcase, pulling out his iPad. He angrily tapped on the screen a few times before opening an audio file. "Well, how about this to convince you?"

Chu pressed play, and the recording began.

"_Mom, you said no more tests," _a young boy said.

"_I never said that. Roland, did I say that?" _Marian Janssen asked.

"_No, Director,_" a man said in a German accent. _"Omega, you must listen to your mother. You do 'vant to be perfect, right? You don't 'vant to be a failure like 'de others." _

"_No..." _the boy said, his voice trailing off anxiously.

"_Good boy. Now lie down," _Marian ordered him.

The only sounds for the next few seconds were someone moving things around.

"_'Dis is the same test from before?" _

"_No. A different formula,_" Marian explained. _"The last one obviously didn't work as planned. Hold still, now." _

"_Ouch! STOP! Get away from me!" _the boy shouted.

Kearney jumped at the sound of the child screaming.

"_Be quiet already,_" Marian snapped.

There was a banging noise, and then a crash.

"_Jesus-stop that, Omega!" _Marian continued. _"Roland! Catch him!" _

Another crash followed.

"_Let me GO!" _the boy screamed. _"You're hurting me! Mom! Make it stop!_"

"_Give me the needle!" _Marian shouted. There was more banging around on the recording.

There were a few seconds of silence.

"_'Dat 'vill keep him out for a few hours, at least,_" the German man said with a sigh. _"Should I put in a request for a new formula?" _

"_No," _Marian sighed. _"I...I don't think this'll work. He had so much potential too. Just put an FE in his file, and that's that, I guess." _

"_An FE? You 'vant to retire him?" _

"_I don't think so," _Marian said. _"I'll take him back to my place and decide what to do with him." _

Chu crossed his arms, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Now tell me you don't want her son to testify for us."

Kearney couldn't take it. She couldn't deal with the events that occurred on the tape...it was just too much. She stood up suddenly, tears filling her eyes. She pushed her chair back and exited the room, the door slamming behind her.

She walked down the hall as fast as she could, trying to get away from the situation. Damn Robert Chu, using the problems of others to get what he wanted! Who knew if that kid was even _alive_ after all that? It would take anyone a lot of willpower to survive anything like that.

"Hey, Rachel," someone said. It was Detective Wilson of the 86th Precinct.

Kearney looked down, not wanting him to see her display of emotion. "How's it going, Detective?"

"Eh, things could be worse. Could also be better. You alright?" Wilson asked.

Kearney looked up, deciding to shake her head. "I heard one of the tapes. With Janssen and her son."

"Oh, Jesus," Wilson said.

"I'm going back to corporate law," Kearney insisted. "I want to work on taxes, contracts, that sort of stuff. Not sociopathic women torturing their own kids. If I have to deal with that shit, I just don't think I'm cut out for this line of work."

"The cases we get usually aren't anything like that," Wilson reminded her. "Usually it's the usual rapes, murders, robberies..."

"That's the other thing," she pointed out. "You call that the _usual _stuff. That's not any better, in my opinion. Look, what you do is...is incredible. Cleaning up the city, keeping people like Janssen off the streets...I don't know where we'd all be without the NYPD and Department of Justice. But clearly it's not for me."

She started tearing up again, thinking of all that had gone on when Itex was in business. Those poor children! She didn't have kids of her own, but she did have younger siblings...it could just as easily have been one of _them _in that awful lab. Some nerve the Whitecoats all had, calling themselves doctors and scientists! They were child abusers, plain and simple.

"No. You're wrong," Wilson insisted. "What's not for you is Chu and his political crap. I'm gonna be flat-out with you, Chu's a grade-A asshole. He treats everyone like shit. But that shouldn't stop you from doing what you do best. I saw you in court. You've got what they need in there. You're a hell of a lot better than Sam Greene, that's for sure."

Kearney laughed, wiping her tears away. "I haven't slept with a juror. And I don't plan on doing so."

"Why'd you take this job, Rachel?" Wilson asked.

"I want to help people," she said. "I always have. You know what the Pledge of Allegiance says? 'Liberty and justice for all.' As long as people like Marian Janssen are around, that's not going to be true. I want to make it true. I want liberty and justice for everyone. People, whether they live on Park Avenue and 72nd or the Bronx projects, shouldn't be afraid of gunshots outside of their building. People shouldn't have to worry about getting stabbed because of the color of their skin. And kids shouldn't be scared that a group of criminals are going to drag them down to a lab and experiment on them. There's nothing American about any of that."

Wilson stood there, listening to Kearney's inspiring speech, tinged with a hint of idealistic patriotism.

"Then, that's what you need to do," he told her softly. "Don't listen to Chu or any other sonofabitch who tries to get in your way. You go into that courtroom and give 'em hell."

"How do I do that if I can't listen to a damn tape?" Kearney asked.

"You remember it's all for justice," Wilson insisted. "And if all else fails, pretend you're starring on the latest episode of _Law and Order._"

Kearney forced a smile. "I did always admire Casey Novak from _Law and Order: Special Victims Unit,_" she joked.

"Then, there you go. Whaddya say, ADA Kearney? You wanna go get yourself some justice?"

"Absolutely," she said. "I can do this."

"Hell yes, you can," Wilson told her.

Kearney thought of what her next move would be. Walk back into that conference room and join them in preparing for the trial.

But she wouldn't apologize to Mr. Chu. She'd be damned if she'd give the motherfucker the satisfaction.


	26. Breaking News

**A/N: Oh. My. God. Guess what? I might be meeting my all-time favorite author, Tom Wolfe, this summer! I'm going to NYC and he lives in NYC...my dad worked with him for a bit because he knew the real-life judge who inspired the judge in The Bonfire of the Vanities, and in turn inspired Judge Renee Laurent (: So I'm going to try and see if he's around and willing to meet up with a crazy fangirl (; So exciting! :D Maybe he can sign my copy of Bonfire? Maybe I can even convince him to read AFTI! :D :D :D Don't look at me like that. A girl can dream (': **

**Also, I'm currently in my living room in my (small) lake house, and my dad's all "What are you writing?" and I'm like "That crime story I told you about." So he (he plays guitar) won't stop playing Jailhouse Rock, I Shot the Sheriff, and Folsom Prison Blues. Wow, just wow...now you see where I get my craziness from (; **

"Thanks for your help, Ms. Mulcahey. I really appreciate you sticking your neck out for me here," Fang said into his cell phone. "I'm sure Mr. Dupont saw the error of his ways."

He hung up.

"Who was that?" Max asked him.

"Leslie Mulcahey. The Manhattan District Attorney," he said. "Mark took a plea deal. No time. Community service, and a fine. It took come cajoling, but it sure as hell beats jail for him." Fang smiled at the good news.

"So, this means you're back in business," Max said. "Book sales should go up, and…"

He sighed. "I don't know, Max. It's not just my book, all his clients' sales have been dropping. John Abate told me to stop worrying and focus on my work for the _Times. _And school, of course." Sometimes, Fang forgot he was still a Columbia University student.

"I'm sure people don't associate him with you," Max insisted. "I mean, the whole purpose of that book was-what did the _Boston Globe _review say? _A scathing criticism of crime and criminals in 21__st__-century America._ You spent seven-hundred-something pages talking about how bad illegal experimentation is. I'm sure, after all that, people don't think you support statutory rape."

"People around here think what they want to think."

"Maybe you should host a book signing," Max suggested. "I've got it! A book signing, with discounted sales, right outside of the Bronx District Court on the day of Marian's trial!"

Fang chuckled. "I'm not sure if that's the right move."

"Come on. Let's give her a hard time."

"I'll talk to my publisher, and see if that's even allowed. But I kinda like that," he admitted. "It's definitely a ballsy move. Speaking of, I can't believe what you said to Marian the other day."

Max remembered the mostly one-sided "conversation," if one could call it that. It was more like an attack-an attack on Marian and everything she stood for. In less than five minutes, Max had verbally ripped her apart, reduced her to less than nothing. And Max was proud. Marian, after all, was a lowlife, a criminal, a Whitecoat.

Max laughed in memory of what she had said. "Hey, I can be a bitch too," she said.

"I'd just be careful," Fang warned her. "She's got a dangerous history, that Marian Janssen. You'd know better than me."

"You think I'm still scared of her? Her and that loser _Roland ter Borcht?" _Max laughed again. "She wouldn't do anything, especially with her trial so close and all."

"You'd be surprised. People do crazy shit in this city."

"I'll be fine, Fang," Max insisted. "I can't hide under a rock my whole life."

Fang sighed. He just had a bad feeling about the whole situation...or maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe Max was right, and it was nothing altogether. He actually thought it was kind of cool that she had the nerve to stand up to Marian like that. He was always more of the passive-aggressive type, but there was nothing passive about what Max had said.

"How's everything going with Jeb?" Fang asked.

"Alright, I guess. He went back to Long Island the other day," Max explained. "Angel's still upset with me over the whole thing...I can't say I blame her, honestly. That made things a little bit awkward between Jeb and I, but it's a hundred times better than it was before."

"That's good, I guess," Fang said, shrugging. That was another situation he had a bad feeling about. He didn't think Jeb was nearly as bad as Marian, but still, he didn't think he was telling the full story to Max or anyone else. Those people were full of enough secrets to fill a book-and then some.

"Maybe you should go over to the loft and cheer Angel up," Fang suggested.

"I was thinking of doing that tomorrow, actually," Max said.

Fang's phone began ringing. It was Al Rosenberg. "Good idea. Duty calls," he said, pointing to the phone. "What's up, Al?"

"Kid, clear your calendar for tonight," Rosenberg told him.

"Um, that's a little tough...I'm with my girlfriend," Fang said.

"Tough luck, kid. We've got breaking news, and I'm tellin' ya, this shit's hotter than hell!"

"Well, can't argue with that. What's going on?"

"The cops up at the 86th Precinct are investigating the Janssen case, and they found a bunch of recordings from Itex. You'll never guess what they found out...Janssen experimented on her own son!"

Fang thought for a second. That must have been the kid Marian was walking around with near Times Square the other day! How could he stand up for her after what she apparently did to him?

"That's crazy," he said. "Why?"

"Because she's a selfish criminal?" Rosenberg speculated. "But wait, there's more. Guess who the father is."

"If you tell me it's you, I'm quitting," Fang joked.

"Nope. Jeb Batchelder."

Fang's mouth dropped open. He couldn't say a word. He was shocked silent.

"Fang, you there, kid?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to do a write-up on Janssen and her kid," Rosenberg instructed her. "I'll send you the recordings over Gmail. The city deserves to know what she's doing."

"Alright," Fang sighed. "I'll get right on it."

"Get on what?" Max asked.

Fang took a deep breath. "Max, I need to tell you something. And this isn't going to be easy, so don't flip out, okay?"

"Damn," Max said with a nervous laugh. "I'm kind of worried now."

"Remember the kid Marian was walking around with in Times Square? Her son?"

"Yeah," Max said, nodding. "I can't believe she actually had a _kid._"

"Well, Al just told me who the father is," Fang began.

"Don't tell me," Max ordered him. "Let me guess. Mayor Bloomberg! The Director and the Mayor! Wait, no! Roland ter Borcht!" She burst out, her signature laugh filling the room.

"No, Max," Fang sighed. "The father's um, Jeb. Jeb's the father."

Max stared at him for a full second before continuing to laugh, clutching her stomach in hysterics. "Good one!" she exclaimed. "That's such a funny joke. Jeb's Marian's baby daddy! Someone call Maury! Nice job, Fang."

"Max. I'm serious," Fang insisted. "I'm sorry to tell you this way, but, well, I need to write an article about it for the _Times._"

Something in Fang's eyes told Max that he wasn't joking.

"Oh my God," she said in a low voice, practically a whisper. "I can't believe it. That fucking asshole! That liar! I thought he was serious about turning his life around, and then he goes and screws the Director!"

"They're not together now, I don't think," Fang reminded her. "That boy couldn't have been less than fourteen or fifteen years old."

"I can't believe he didn't tell me!" Max snapped. She pulled out her phone and dialed his number. "Jeb? It's Max. Your daughter, you know, the kid you _didn't _have with Marian Janssen...yeah. You better not talk to me again, you asshole. You two deserve each other."

She hung up without listening to his response. Her action was rash and angry, something not unexpected given the circumstances.

She slammed the phone down on Fang's coffee table. "Now that that's taken care of...I want you to do me a favor."  
"Yeah?"

"Write the nastiest, bitchiest article ever. I want Marian and Jeb's names dragged through the mud."

Fang sighed, opened up his laptop, and began to type.

_JEB BATCHELDER: _

_YOU ARE THE FATHER!_

_By Nicholas Ride_


	27. We Warned You, Max

**A/N: I'm on a roll here with all these chapters (: Here's where shit starts getting intense; read to find what happens (; But the story's still got a long way to go and lots to happen, so hang in there and don't forget to review! **

With three days to go before her trial began, Marian Janssen had the sudden realization of just how _difficult _it was to be a law-abiding citizen. For a person such as herself, whose whole life was once based around criminal activity, it was frustrating to have to actually play by the rules.

More frustrating for her was having to entertain Omega. She had sent him away for a good reason, in her opinion, at least. _And now he was back. _He was sucking the life out of her, like a goddamn leach. Back in the old days, the Itex days, he at least served a purpose to her. But now, with his return, she understood why people didn't have children. They _aged_ people! Marian was definitely not the twenty-something fresh face she was after getting her MD and MBA, but she wasn't some old matron either! She still had life left in her!

Didn't Jack Janssen have any sense? He would let him roam free around the city. And where did he always go? Straight to Marian's apartment, like a pathetic lost puppy. Couldn't he just accept that Kristina and Jack made much more suitable parents?

In order to appease her lawyer, Marian had gone along with the whole thing. The previous day, they had gone ice skating in Central Park. She had even smiled a few times. But in the back of her mind, was the word _failure, failure, failure. _Omega was supposed to be a success, but he turned out to be a failure in the end. And Marian wasn't one to associate with failures.

And yet, there he was, at her front door. The failure, the pathetic lost puppy who dressed like a miniature version of Marian's father, was there once again.

"Good morning," he greeted her coolly. "I brought you a cup of coffee. And the _Times. _You're welcome." Omega handed Marian a Starbucks cup and a copy of the newspaper.

Marian smiled tightly. "I prefer chai lattes," she told him. _See? Failure, failure, failure! Although a very chivalrous failure. _

"I'm not a mind reader. Sorry." The teenage boy shrugged.

Marian sighed. "_Eh bien, ce qui peut __ê__tre fait." _

"I don't speak French either," Omega said. "With all your experiments, you haven't been able to make people bilingual."

"And what a pity that is, huh?" she said.

Omega ignored her. "So. How can I get in touch with my father?" he asked.

_Jesus Christ! _Couldn't he just let the issue alone for once? Not only was he a failure, he was pushy, too.

"You promised," he continued.

"I don't make promises. You should know that already."

"Still, I mean, I'm not making _you _talk to him."

"Good! Because we're not getting back together," Marian insisted. "Ever."

"I'm not looking for some _Parent Trap _thing," Omega insisted. "I just want some answers."

"And _why _do you have so many questions?" Marian demanded. "It's not your job to ask questions."

"Sorry, I forgot. It's my job to be your obedient little test subject, isn't that right?" he snapped.

"Hey! You're forgetting that I gave you a purpose in life. I gave you a chance nobody else had. And even after you failed, I still allowed you to live."

"Oh, thank you so much, Mom, for cutting me open!" Omega exclaimed angrily, another surprising outburst. "Thanks a lot for dragging me down to Itex every day after school so I couldn't even do anything. Thank you so much, for sticking me with a shit ton of needles! Thanks for making me go through mazes which fucking shocked me! Thanks for making me fight armed security guards. And thanks, after I went through all that just to make you happy, for sending me off on a train to live with strangers. I really appreciate that shit. Nice going."

"Don't be rude," Marian told him.

"And I should be grateful that you didn't have me, um, 'retired.' Being killed would've been a nice change from my daily routine." Omega took a shaky breath. "And now, after I come back _and _stick up for you, in front of one of the _New York Times's _best reporters, no less, you still haven't changed one bit. See you."

He calmly turned around, and marched out the front door, but not before saying, "Oh, and you owe me five bucks for the paper and the coffee."

Marian shut the door behind him. She wasn't sure what to think, exactly…sad? Angry? Regretful?

She decided to place thinking about Omega in the category of "things to think about later" and read the paper. Marian absentmindedly flipped to the _New York News _section, spotting an article by Nicholas Ride.

_JEB BATCHELDER: _

_YOU ARE THE FATHER!_

_Fuck! _

The article itself was short, but said all that needed to be said. Ride had even included a quote from Max Martinez: "It all makes sense, actually. Misery loves company. Anyway, why abuse someone else's kid when you can abuse your own? Better yet, have it both ways!" Marian could picture Max, all snarky and sarcastic, saying those words.

Too angry to read the rest, she put the paper down and picked up her cell phone.

"'Allo?" Roland ter Borcht answered.

"Do you remember the…backup plan we discussed?" Marian asked, without any sort of greeting.

"Of course."

"I think it's time to put that plan into action."

He paused. "Are you sure? 'Vat made you change your mind?"

"Of course I'm sure," Marian insisted. "And two words. Nicholas Ride."

"Ha!" Roland snorted. "'Vat a…son of bitch."

Marian giggled at his broken English.

"'Vere should I meet you?"

"105 Sullivan."

"'Dat's down in SoHo, is it not?"

"Yes. So I'll meet you in an hour?" Marian asked.

"You have my word."

**105 Sullivan Street**

Max Martinez was surprised to find her family's SoHo loft empty when she arrived.

"Mom? Angel? Ella?" she called.

There was a note on the table:

_Hi Max!_

_Got your call. We're ice skating at the park. We'll be home in a few hours. Feel free to hang out for a bit. _

_-Mom _

Max was slightly insulted that she hadn't been invited to the family outing, but then again, she didn't officially live there anymore. And she understood why Angel especially would want a break from Max. Max couldn't believe she had been so stupid as to believe Jeb again. What an asshole. They were all assholes.

She flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV. There was a rerun of _Law and Order _on.

"_In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups,_" the usual voiceover said. _"The police who investigate crime, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories."_

Max sat, engrossed in the story of a girl two drug dealers who sold kids to an illegal child labor corporation, until she heard a banging noise from the foyer. She immediately sat up, alert, and walked into the room to investigate.

"I see your mother has made good use of _my money,_" a sharp female voice snapped. It was Marian Janssen.

Marian Janssen and Roland ter Borcht were in her apartment. _Inside her apartment. _

Max instinctively reached for the closest thing she could use as a weapon, a blue glass vase.

"Get out," Max said, shakily. "_Now._"

"What's the matter? Don't get mad at us. Blame your boyfriend Nicholas Ride. _He _wrote that article."

_The article! _Max remembered it. It had been pretty snarky, after all, detailing the (quite disturbing) recordings of Marian experimenting on her kid-Omega, was apparently his name.

"That doesn't give you the right to break into my apartment. Leave before I call the cops."

"Now, now, let's not make any decisions you might regret," she said. "Come with us, and we won't hurt you."

"That doesn't mean shit, coming from you!" Max yelled, before running to grab the phone in the kitchen. Before she could reach the phone, Roland grabbed her around the waist. Max immediately felt a pinch in her arm, and fell to the floor as the drug took hold of her body.

"We warned you, Max," Marian said.

The last thing Max remembered, before blacking out completely, was being shoved into the backseat of a car.


	28. Good as Dead

**A/N: O HAI GAISSS! So as you guys know, I've been having one BORING week lately. I can't even express in words how bored I was. But, it FINALLY stopped raining so I can get out and do fun stuff (: I'm even having a party in a few days awww yeah! **

**Anyway, here is chapter 28 (: **

Max awoke, head pounding. She was in a car.

_A car? What the hell? _she wondered.

Looking out the window, none of her surroundings looked familiar. She was on the highway, and off to the side all she could see was trees…mountains…all sorts of natural features that were a rarity in or near New York City.

Max then noticed a sign that said EXIT 15: CONCORD, NH.

_New Hampshire? _Max thought anxiously. New Hampshire was at least a four-hour trip from Manhattan. Surely this was all a dream…yes! That was it! She had imagined the whole thing, Marian breaking into her apartment and all. That was the only logical explanation for this insanity.

"Sleep well, Subject 35?" a female voice asked.

Max looked up in shock. Marian Janssen was driving the car, with that asshole Roland ter Borcht in the passenger seat.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Max spat. "Let me go right now."

"Aw, that's not very safe," her kidnapper said mockingly. "We're on a highway, after all. And I can't just leave you here, with no knowledge of where you are. That's not very…responsible of me, right, Roland?"

"I think not, Director," Roland ter Borcht said with a cruel laugh.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

The two criminals looked at each other.

"We're going on a…vacation," Marian said vaguely.

"Good luck with that," Max said sarcastically. "Once the New Hampshire state troopers catch you with a kidnapped girl in the backseat, the only vacation you'll be taking is a one-stop trip to Rikers Island Correctional Facility." _Hasta la vista, baby! _

"I'd 'vatch how you spoke to us," Roland warned her. "You must remember 'dat you are not in control of 'dis situation."

Max looked at the door. It would be so easy to jump out, if only they weren't going seventy miles per hour!

"The least you could do is change the radio," Max snapped. Marian had it turned to an obnoxious pop station.

They ignored her.

"How long should we stay here?" Roland asked Marian.

"A day or two at the most," she said. "Then, it's off to Canada, where we can start over once and for all."

"And 'vat about your son?"

"He'll be fine with Jeb or Jack. He's an FE, anyway, right?"

They laughed again.

Marian put on her right blinker and prepared to exit the highway.

"Hey. I'm thirsty," Max said, forming an idea. "Can we stop somewhere?" She figured that, once they pulled into a gas station, she'd scream until someone heard and called the police.

Marian laughed. "Nice try. Don't worry, you can have something to drink once we get there, sweetie. You'll need it."

Max shuddered. What were those psycho pieces a' shit going to do to her?

They drove through several winding roads, before finally reaching a house surrounded by nothing but woods.

_There's nobody around, _Max thought miserably. _Nobody to see or hear anything…_

Marian parked the car in the garage, turning it off. Every one of her actions was painfully slow. Finally, she came around to the back and opened the door, pulling Max out.

Max's first instinct, as it usually was, was to fight like hell. She lifted her right foot and kicked Marian in the stomach, sending her back a few feet. She wobbled-_come on, bitch! Fall down!-_and fell to the ground. If it hadn't been such a dire situation, it would've been funny the way she lay on the floor, legs splayed.

The Director immediately stood back up. "I'll make you regret that," she snapped, grabbing Max by the elbow. Max struggled, trying to wriggle herself out of her grasp. But Marian held on tightly, shoving her through the front door.

Max was led down a flight of stairs, into a finished basement with a TV and a ping-pong table. Now there was some real irony. Who would've thought felons enjoyed such traditional activities such as ping-pong and watching TV?

"That's it?" Max asked sarcastically. "If you wanted me to kick your ass at ping-pong, we could've played back in New York."

Marian smirked at her before leading her through another door, into a laboratory of some sort.

Max immediately felt her blood run cold. This room was all too similar to the testing rooms at Itex, or was that the point? It brought back all the horrible memories she had hidden away.

"Let me out of here," Max demanded.

"Or you're going to do what? Call the cops? I already took your phone, and there's no cell service within three miles of here, anyway. You're not so tough without your boyfriend and the precious NYPD around to save you, are you?"

In addition to being frightened, Max was angry. How _dare _she! Did Marian really think she wasn't going to get caught? Someone must have reported her missing by now! Most likely, the police were tracking her down at that very moment.

Roland and Marian forced her onto a metal table, strapping her down.

"Let me go!" Max screamed, kicking them and trying as best as she could to get free. "Let go of me, you shitheads!"

"Hmm. You're still as uncooperative as before," Roland snapped.

Marian filled a syringe with some sort of liquid. "Now, I hope you're not an FE," she said tauntingly.

Max remembered what that meant, the one designation everyone at Itex feared.

"What do you want from me?" Max shouted. "Do you want me to apologize for what I did? I'm not sorry! You're the ones breaking the law!"

"All I want is for you to listen to us. We would hate for you to end up like poor Gazzy for example…that's why you need to cooperate with us. Without us, you're as good as dead. Oh, how is little Angel taking the whole thing?" Marian asked as she stuck the needle into Max's arm. "I haven't seen her in a while either. You know, before those damn police showed up, we were onto several discoveries with her…"

"Don't talk about Angel," Max snapped.

"I'll talk about whoever I want," Marian retorted, injecting Max with the liquid.

Her head felt fuzzy; everything in the room went blurry. And everything Marian said sounded drawn-out, like listening to her in slow motion.

Before she was knocked out again, Marian said, "I think it's working," with a triumphant grin.

**New York, NY**

NYPD Police Commissioner Raymond "Ray" Kelly was awoken, sometime around midnight, by the ringing of his phone.

_Damn, _he thought, frustrated at being woken up from a deep sleep, something he didn't experience too often those days. It was the number of the 86th Precinct in the Bronx.

"Good evening, er, morning, Commissioner Kelly," a gruff voice said. It was Detective Andrew Wilson. "First of all, I'm sorry to wake you at such an hour-"

"Shut the fuck up," Kelly snapped, in his usual Irish New Yorker accent. _Shuddafuckup. _"I don't wanna hear your formalities. There's gotta be a good reason you're calling me at this time of the night." The lousy Bronx detective, all full of himself, sure as hell didn't have the right to be calling the commissioner without a damn good excuse for it!

"There is. I'm at the precinct with my partner Detective Burns, and Jeb and Valencia."

"Yeah, yeah. Jeb and Valencia who?"

"Martinez, sir," Wilson continued. "And Jeb Batchelder. Maxine Martinez's parents."

Kelly remembered Maxine Martinez-she was the girl from all that Itex bullshit years ago. The reporter Ride's girlfriend.

"Jeb Batchelder, eh? Tell that motherfucker-" _muddafucka_ "-not to waste my time."

"Mr. Kelly, we've got an emergency on our hands," Wilson said, his voice becoming quicker. "Max is missing. Nobody's heard from her all day. And not only that, it seems that one of our prime defendants has skipped town."

"Who?" Kelly demanded.

"Marian Janssen."

Kelly sat up in bed, immediately awake. _That piece a' shit! _The bitch had probably kidnapped Max again.

"Alright. Meet me at 1PP." 1PP was slang for One Police Plaza, the NYPD headquarters. "We'll get all the squads involved in this one. We've gotta find that girl-and that _bitch._ My guess is, knowing her, she's not working alone. Check her records. Dump her computer. The last thing I want is any blood spilled. Literally or figuratively."

"Right away. I'll get my guys on it too," Wilson said. "We'll find her, Kelly. Don't worry. We've done it before."

"Get that Amber Alert out, too," Kelly ordered. "The more time we waste, the worse the odds get."

Kelly sighed, hanging up his phone. He threw the light switch in his room on and changed from his pajamas into a pair of slacks and a sport coat.

"What are you doing?" Kelly's wife asked, stirring in the bed next to where he once lay.

"Duty calls," Kelly replied, putting several bills in his pocket for a cab-even he wouldn't take the subway at that time. "Gotta go protect the city." His city. His and Bloomberg's-who would be Kelly's next call once he got down to 1PP.

As he sped off into the night, into the endless lights of New York City, all he could think was, _This is one helluva job._


	29. You'll Do What I Tell You

**A/N: Hi! So because it's the 4th of July weekend and all, my updating schedule's gonna be a little off. I'm going waterskiing tomorrow…er, later today (I went to bed so early last night so I'm also up at 2:30 AM) and possibly flying in a seaplane (!). Monday I'm sleeping over at a friend's house, Tuesday I'm having a party and may or may not have a million people sleeping over at my house (at my parties, people always show up with random guests and my lake house is an hour from where I live so people will have to stay over). That will leave little time for writing and uploading. But fear not! I'll be back once the craziness ends and I'm glad not to be bored anymore! Plus I'll have lots of awko-taco/hot mess party pictures on my Facebook and Twitter; who doesn't like those? (: What fun stuff are you guys doing to ring in the holiday? **

**Oh, and if you're looking for a laugh, you should read TheCatWithTheHat's parody crackfic, The Max and FANGisodes (I believe FANG must be in all caps if I'm correct…). You know how this fic is all serious and about crime and the law and politics and stuff? The Max and FANGisodes is probably the complete opposite of this (: 100% random awesomeness. So go R&R if you're in the mood to laugh!**

**Also, I've started tweeting again (: Follow me on Twitter: jessislegit :D **

**And one final question for my readers that is actually relevant to the events of this story, if you were a big-time criminal on the run from the law, where would you hide, who would you bring as your partner in crime, and why? (; **

Marian Janssen sat at the dining table of her New Hampshire hideaway, calmly sipping a cup of coffee as if she didn't have a kidnapped girl locked away in a secret basement lab. If anyone had walked into the house then and there, the scene would have looked completely normal. It would've looked like just an average fall morning. Well, for a career criminal, it _was _pretty much an average fall morning. Some kidnapping, some illegal experimentation, all with a nice cup of coffee, no big deal! All part of the gig.

She turned around, hearing Roland ter Borcht come down the stairs.

"Good morning," she greeted him happily. "Look what I got!" Marian held up a plastic CVS bag.

Roland rolled his eyes. "You caved and bought drugstore makeup?"

"You're an idiot, Roland," Marian snapped. "No." She pulled out three passports. "Did you really think we were going to try and cross the border with our real identities?"

Roland looked at the fake passports. "Rebecca Stuart?"

"That's me."

"Christopher McCoy?" Roland wrinkled his nose. "Do I _look _like a Christopher McCoy to you?"

"Just live with it," Marian snapped.

"And 'vat about the girl?"

"Casey Stuart." Marian grinned. "My daughter."

"'Vat if they recognize us?"

"Do you remember Mike Saunders?"

"'Ze Eraser?"

"He's working border patrol now. We'll be _just fine_," Marian assured her partner in crime. "Don't worry. I know how to cover my tracks."

"'Vell, if this goes according to plan, maybe he'll be 'vorking for us again soon."

"One can hope." Marian sighed dramatically, stretching her hands above her head.

"'Vat do you want to do 'vith 'de girl, anyway?"

"What do you mean? Keep her with us, of course."

"How can you be sure she 'vill not try and run away at 'de first chance?"

"That's the other thing I was thinking," Marian said with a devious smirk. "We need to make her completely dependent on us. Break her will, so to speak. So she doesn't _want _to run away. She'd be a great help with our plans, if we could get her on our side."

"And how do you suppose going about doing 'dat?" Roland demanded. "You know how she acts. I know how she acts. She's completely unruly."

"We'll find a way to motivate her. Everyone has a weak spot."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what's yours?"

Marian smiled. "Oh, I have a few. Sample sales, frozen lemonade during the summer, and shoe stores." She paused and nodded. "But mostly shoe stores."

Max Martinez awoke, once again, in unfamiliar surroundings. This time, rather than being in a car driving along a New Hampshire highway, she was in a cot of some sort, in a sterile white room.

Looking at the IV in her arm, as well as the hospital gown she had been changed into, brought back the memories of all that had happened. Tears flooded her eyes as she realized she was being held hostage by Janssen and ter Borcht.

She tugged on the IV, taking it out, the least she could do to make herself more comfortable. Despite her spinning head, she stood up, carefully walking over to the door in the room. A few attempts to turn the handle confirmed that she was locked in.

_Those bitches! _Max thought angrily. She still couldn't believe that she had been ripped from her home, all over an article. It was _their _fault, not hers! She hadn't been the one to screw up.

Her dizziness made it difficult to remain standing. She stumbled back to the cot and fell on top of it, suddenly wanting to go back to sleep. But she couldn't. She had to keep her guard up as much as she could, so maybe she could find a way out of that horrible place.

The door at the front of the room opened. In walked Marian Janssen, in a blue dress and lab coat.

"Good morning," she said with a nod. She immediately began fiddling with some medical supplies. "Not feeling friendly, I suppose?"

"Well, let's see," Max said. "You break into my mother's apartment, drug me, kidnap me, take me to some random-ass house in New Hampshire and start experimenting on me again? Yeah, no."

Marian smiled. "I'll take that as a no. Well, I actually have a proposition for you."

Max rolled her eyes. "Unless it involves you letting me go and turning yourself in to the cops, I'm not interested."

Marian sat down on the bed next to Max, putting her arm around her in a motherly fashion.

_Motherly. _What was her mother wondering? Max thought. Surely, she had already gone to the cops…and what about Jeb? Max suddenly regretted cutting things off with Jeb so abruptly. He really wasn't such a bad guy…and Fang! What about him?

"You really shouldn't be so rude," she said. "You know, you could really help us out."

Max shoved Marian's arm away from her. "You could really help ME out. You know what you could do? Let me _the fuck _out of here."

"I can't do that, Max," Marian said. "But like I was saying, if you agree to work with us, instead of against us, you could have it all. Money. Power. Fame. Like me."

"You don't have those things anymore," Max snapped. "You got arrested, remember? You got sued, and your life fell apart. Going back to a life of crime isn't going to make any of that go away. Breaking the law doesn't solve anything."

"Look at you, Ms. Morality." Marian smirked. "The thing to remember is, you don't exactly have a choice. _We _control_ you _now. And you'll do what I tell you, or you're in for a very…uncomfortable time."

"I don't care," Max said, crossing her arms. "I'm not going to be a part of one of your fucked-up schemes."

Marian smiled sadly. "All right, then…if you insist. But I think I'm giving you a good choice." She pulled out a needle from one of her pockets and quickly shoved it into Max's arm.

Max let out a cry as pain spread throughout her body.

"Still haven't changed your mind?" Marian asked.

"Nope," Max said, gritting her teeth. _I won't give up. I can't give up. I just have to hold out a little longer…until the police show up. It should be any time now…any minute. _

"Well, we'll just see about that."


	30. One Police Plaza

The atmosphere of One Police Plaza, the NYPD headquarters, was usually orderly and organized. The secretaries would keep all of the paperwork in check, and police officers would walk around the building with the confidence one would expect of men and women sworn to protect the public. The look on the faces of most members of the NYPD usually said, "I am a police officer. I am in charge."

On that day, however, 1PP was a chaotic mess. Detectives from the Bronx's 86th Precinct, as well as New York City's Special Victims Unit and Major Case Squad, were running amok, trying to gather as much evidence as they could.

"Detective Wilson!" an officer shouted. It was Detective Clark McGinley of the SVU, and a rather small fellow, by NYPD standards. He was fit enough to pass the rigorous fitness tests required at the police academy, yet his frame didn't even compare to Wilson's masculine, muscular appearance. For that reason, he was often relegated to desk duty.

"Whaddya got, McGinley?" Wilson asked.

"E-mails. Between Janssen, and some other guy named Roland…ter…Borcht," McGinley said. He, who wasn't one for complicated names, had difficulty pronouncing the German scientist's last name. He pronounced it _ter Bor-chit, _causing Wilson to wince. "You got any idea who that is?"

"Yeah. I know who that is," Wilson said. Ter Borcht was the first person arrested in the Itex raid, actually. "German expat, Eurotrash motherfucker. Gave me a lotta bullshit back in 2011."

"Right. Well, it seems that he produced the drug Janssen tested on that girl…what was her name?"

"Rosie Turner," Wilson informed him, grabbing the stack of papers McGinley held.

McGinley chuckled, trying to hide his embarrassment at Wilson grabbing the papers from him like that-like McGinley was a child. He was no NYPD superstar like Detective Andrew Wilson, but he was hardly a rookie cop either! "What a stupid sonofabitch, huh?" he said. "Doesn't he know not to post shit like that on the Internet?"

"Yeah. Stupid sonofabitch," Wilson said, only half-listening to the young police officer, mostly engrossed in the papers before him.

Across the floor, in another office, Ray Kelly was meeting with the Manhattan and Bronx District Attorneys, Leslie Mulcahey and Robert Chu.

"Now, Leslie," Chu began, ignoring all unwritten rules and calling Mulcahey by her first name, "you _sure _you haven't heard anything about her? No strange reports, or…"

"Nothing, Mr. Chu," Mulcahey said. She rubbed her temples anxiously.

"I just gotta ask you one thing," Chu said. "Why are your folks getting involved here? My squad was in charge of the Janssen thing from the very beginning…our guys could've taken care of it!"

"Mr. Chu, there was evidence that Maxine was kidnapped from her mother's apartment. Which happens to be located in SoHo. And SoHo's in _Manhattan_."

Chu crossed his arms. "Well, I'll tell ya what. Once we nab Janssen, I can't wait to put her on trial. I bet that'll do well for me in the polls-"

Kelly's anger flared. What the hell was wrong with Chu, using this to get his way in the political ring? Did he not realize what kind of a situation this was in? This would impact the whole city! There was a _child kidnapper _on the loose! "Now, you listen, Mr. Chu," he snapped, drawing out Chu's name. _Mistah Chuuuuu. _"You say one word-_one more word-_about your ass getting elected, you'll be off the case so fast it'll make your head spin. Now we've got a situation on our hands here…a girl is missing, and we've got one of the city's worst criminal offenders running around free! What we need to be doing is getting anyone and everyone who worked for Janssen down here right now."

"Itex had hundreds of employees," Mulcahey said. "It'll take ages to track them all down-"

"Then I suggest you get your detectives right on it. Their data's in the system from when they were all arrested; it shouldn't be too hard."

"And if they won't talk?"

Kelly looked Mulcahey in the eyes. "_Make 'em." _

"Mr. Ride," a voice said. The voice was kind and female, and belonged to Officer Nicole Harrington, a new recruit. "Can I get you anything? A bagel, cup of coffee? Water?"

Fang rubbed his eyes, tired and sunken from a lack of sleep-he had been awake since two AM, when he had gotten the unfortunate call from Detective Wilson, asking him to come down to the NYPD headquarters. He shook his head.

"Let me know if you do," Officer Harrington said. "I know this must be hard for you. But I have to say, I _loved _that article! What a scandal, huh? Who would've thought that Jeb Batchelder and Mari-"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it," Fang snapped. The mere mention of the article made him feel guilty. Oh, the guilt! It crashed upon him like the waves at Brighton Beach. _Why _had he written the article? He shouldn't have gone too far…he should have known it would have been a bad idea to "drag their names through the mud," as Max had said. What kind of a boyfriend was he? He was supposed to protect her, and he had put her right in harm's way. And now she was God knows where with…with _Marian Janssen! _Who knew what Janssen wanted with her…she could've killed Max by then!

_No! _Fang thought in horror. Images flooded his brain-terrible images of Max lying dead in a ditch or shot, a bloody mess. His girlfriend, the love of his life…

_You can't think that way, _he told himself. If they couldn't find her in twenty-four hours, then he would really worry, but it had been less than half a day since she was reported missing. They still had time! They _had _to find her. They just had to.

"Fang…" someone said behind him. It was Dr. Martinez, Max's mother, looking equally as worn-out as Fang. She grabbed him in a hug.

"It's okay, Dr. Martinez," Fang said to the woman. "It'll all be okay. The cops are working hard to-"

He was interrupted by a sudden sob. Dr. Martinez, usually strong and resilient, cried into Fang's shoulder. Fang patted her back sympathetically, almost wishing he could cry too.

The two were suddenly approached by Jeb Batchelder.

"Hey, Mr. Ride," he greeted Fang. "I know the two of us haven't had the best of times, but I wanted to say…"

"Get out of here, Jeb!" Dr. Martinez shouted. "My daughter trusted you, and you lied to her! You lied to all of us! If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess at all! None of this would've happened, you lying, cheating, _scumbag!_"

The insult shocked Jeb for a second. He knew he had made mistakes, but he knew he hadn't been the source of all of the problems that had gone on…

Fang sighed. "Fighting's not gonna solve anything," he told the two.

Dr. Martinez ignored Fang and glared at Jeb. "My baby's gone, and it's all your fault," she snapped, before storming away, leaving Jeb alone with Fang.

"Don't worry about the article," Jeb told him. "I know I fucked up. You did…what you were supposed to do."

_Again with the damn article! _Jeb's bringing it up brought on more waves of panic and anxiety. Fang's stomach turned once again.

Fang nodded slowly at Jeb, who looked at the floor, biting his lip.

"Well, I know this isn't much, coming from the person who kidnapped her and all, but I really feel awful about this whole thing."

"Congratulations," Fang said lifelessly.

Jeb tilted his head in confusion. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying congratulations. You want a fucking trophy or something?" Fang snapped. "So you feel awful. Good for you. It's not going to change what's gone on."

And to think he was telling _Fang _not to worry! As if he was the one who was having babies with the Director.

"I know," Jeb sighed. "I just wanted to apologize. That's all." He turned around, walking away. Fang was left alone once again, with nothing but his thoughts.

A cop rushed by him, papers in hand. Fang noticed as one floated to the floor. It was an e-mail printout.

_From: Marian Janssen (mjanssen)_

_To: Roland ter Borcht (roland_tb)_

_Subject: Housing Plans_

_Hello Roland, _

_I was thinking about that plan we discussed…I found a nice little cottage up in the woods of New Hampshire. Pretty, great views and most importantly discreet…I hope you catch what I'm talking about. Seller's already agreed to a payment plan. Link w/pics attached._

_-Marian_

_Sent from my iPhone_

_From: Roland ter Borcht (roland_tb)_

_To: Marian Janssen (mjanssen)_

_Subject: Re: Housing Plans_

_Good evening Director,_

_I checked it out and it looks good. If something goes wrong, it'll be the perfect place to go. Nobody would suspect to find us out there and it's out of the NYPD's range of investigation. Good thinking. _

_-Roland_

_Sent from a BlackBerry Mobile Device_

Fang's heart started pounding, like it usually did when he was onto something. His blood started flowing, invigorating him and bringing him back to Investigative Journalist Mode.

"Hey!" he shouted. He didn't care who heard, just as long as somebody heard him. "HEY! I found something!"

Detective Burns approached him. "What did you find?"

"This." Fang handed him the paper. He felt hopeful once again. Most likely, Max was there! The cops would be able to find her. Everything, as he promised, would be alright.

_Hang on, Max, _he thought. _We're coming for you. _I'm _coming for you. You're going to be safe. _


	31. We've Got a Lead

**A/N: I'm back! So, my party got cancelled…it's a loooong story. But I ended up going over to a friend's house for fireworks so it wasn't so bad after all (: And that means I get to update again (: **

**Also, I finally bought my own copy of Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment (I had borrowed my friend's copy to write AFTI)! And I'm alternating between rereading that, reading The Bonfire of the Vanities for the 4th time (no shame) and finishing up A Man In Full…now I'm getting the plots all mixed up D: After that it'll be on to I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe and then I'll read some of Wolfe's nonfiction books (: **

**On with the update :D**

**One Police Plaza**

**Interview Room 8**

Detective Andrew Wilson based his skill as an interrogator on his ability to get the suspect's lip to quiver. Ten times out of ten, he could do it. Whether the person being questioned was male or female, tall or short, well-built or scrawny, Wilson got the quivering lip. Every single time.

However, he was having a hard time with Dr. John Reilly, a former Itex doctor who had been arrested during the police raid of 2011. Wilson detected a hint of an Irish New Yorker in Reilly, the same trait that could be found in Wilson and even Commissioner Ray Kelly. Yes, Wilson and Reilly were the same man inside! The same tough-talking, hard-drinking Irish New Yorker.

Wilson could tell that the Irish New Yorker in Reilly had been stamped out by years of working for Itex-he had gone in there as an Irish New Yorker, and come out as a Whitecoat. But it was still there, and became more prominent the more Wilson questioned him.

"Now, Dr. Reilly, not only were you one of Itex's top guys, you were one of their most abusive," Wilson said.

Reilly sneered. "I don't like the way you're talking to me." _Tawkin', _he pronounced_. _An Irish New Yorker indeed.

"Yeah, Reilly?" Wilson dropped the title _doctor. _No more pussyfooting around with this sonofabitch. He pulled out a tape recorder and held it tightly, his middle finger hovering over the "play" button. "I don't like the way you're tawkin' to Angel Adams here."

"Who the fuck is Angel Adams?" Reilly's words all fell together. _WhodafuckisAngelAdams? _His face blushed, though, indicating that he knew exactly who Angel Adams was.

Wilson smiled menacingly, pressing the button. Reilly's voice came on the line.

"_Now, Subject Eighty-Seven, you're gonna come with me," _he said. _"You're gonna come with me right now, and I don't want any-OW! Jesus Christ! Little bitch! I'll show you." _

There was a slapping sound, along with a girl's cry. Angel.

Someone else's voice came on the recording. _"What happened?" _

"_This one fuckin' bit me! She _bit _me!" _

Wilson paused the tape.

The Irish New Yorker in Reilly faded away once again, replaced by a more nervous man. "You don't understand, Officer!"

"That's _Detective_ to you, _Reilly_," Wilson snapped. "And in that case, help me understand. The time to be straight with us is _now. _This is a missing persons case here. If you wanna do yourself a favor and help us out, that'd be great. Otherwise…" He let his voice trail off, the unspoken threat of prison and the wrath of Judge Renee Laurent hanging in the air.

Yes! There it was! The quivering lip! Reilly's lip was quivering! A true sign of a suspect who had been defeated by the law, struck down by the mighty forces of the New York City criminal justice system. Wilson's smile spread. He had done it again, yes, he had!

Before Reilly could respond, the door opened.

"Andy!" Detective Tony Burns shouted. "We've got a lead. We're movin' on out."

"Where?" Wilson demanded.

"Some house near Concord, New Hampshire," Burns said.

"New Hampshire?" Wilson asked, narrowing his eyes. "What in the hell is going on in New Hampshire?

"That's Janssen's safe house," Burns explained. "We read a series of emails between her and ter Borcht, and it seems like they're hiding Max up there. Kelly's notified New Hampshire state police, and sending some of us in the NYPD helicopters. Along with the Feds."

"What's the FBI doing gettin' involved?" Wilson asked.

"She crossed state lines. It's a federal case now," Burns said.

"Oh shit," Wilson said, as he smiled, knowing they were hot on Janssen's trail. "Looks like Marian Janssen really got herself wrapped up in this one. Yeah, she's in for it now!" He glanced at Reilly, who was gripping the edge of the interview room table anxiously, as if it was _him _being accused of a federal crime. "The shit's really hit the fan, that's for sure."

**Concord, New Hampshire**

Max squeezed her eyes shut tightly and curled up in her cot as she heard the all-too-familiar _click-clack_ing of high heels on tile, a sound she knew she would despise for years to come. The _click-clack _of Marian's shoes was followed by the _clomp-clomp _of Roland ter Borcht's own shoes.

_Click-clack clomp-clomp click-clack clomp-clomp…_

"Is someone _sleepy?" _Marian asked. Max felt Marian's slim hand grab her shoulder. Marian turned her over roughly, nearly dislocating her shoulder.

"Let go of me," Max snapped, forgetting all about pretending to be asleep.

"Oh, so you're in _that mood_," she said. "I take it you haven't given any thought to my proposal?"

"Nope. Not a second of thought," Max told her. She watched as Roland ter Borcht's face grew angrier and angrier.

"You are _so _unreasonable!" Roland exclaimed. "'Ve are giving you an opportunity for success!"

"And you guys are so fucked up!" Max shouted back, pushing herself off the cot. "How do you define success? The number of people you experiment on? The number of charges on your police record? I'm interning at one of the most prestigious law firms in Manhattan. How is that any less successful than running an illegal company?"

"You don't know how the world works, Max," Marian snapped. "Working for us is your only opportunity for survival."

Max gulped. Were they really going to kill her…they _couldn't_! She decided to take the biggest risk ever. "I'd rather be _dead _than work for you."

Marian glanced at Max before turning to Roland. The two began whispering to each other, as if they were teenagers gossiping at a party. Max picked up on a few words: something about _not yet _and a _special test. _Roland nodded once.

"Well, then, we'll just continue with the tests," Marian said, smirking. She grabbed Max's elbow, pulling her over to the same metal table she had been forced onto earlier.

Max didn't fight back this time, deciding to save her energy. She remembered something Jeb had told her when she was at the School: _This is all just a test. Life is only a test…_

Marian strapped her down before shoving an IV into her arm. Once again, Max felt her consciousness fade away.

"Hand me the scalpel," Marian ordered Roland, who handed her the small knife. Marian began slicing carefully into the back of Max's neck.

"Director," Roland said urgently.

"What?" Marian snapped, annoyed he was distracting her.

"I hear some'ting."

Marian paused. She could hear the beeping of the monitors…and…and something else! Something…loud.

_Sirens, _she quickly realized. There were sirens filling the air, and they were getting louder, louder, louder!

"Oh, no," she whispered.

Outside, the New Hampshire police, NYPD, and FBI were rapidly encroaching on the house. From his vantage point in the police helicopter, Detective Wilson could see their target. An idyllic house in the middle of nowhere-perfect for criminal activity.

Fang, who had elected to come along with the squad, looked out the window. They were so close! _Max, here I come!_

"You guys'll stay behind in the chopper," Detective Burns informed them. "We don't know what they're up to, and we can't risk anything happening.

Valencia nodded.

The helicopter pilot sought out a patch of grass and landed on it. They had arrived at the scene of the crime.

Police officers from all squads exited their vehicles, grabbing their guns. Shouting and sirens could be heard all around-and was that somebody talking into a microphone? Yes! Detective Wilson realized that a news truck had arrived as well-the New England Cable News channel, the Boston area's premier news channel! This was _huge! _

Wilson grabbed a bullhorn. "POLICE! WE HAVE THE PLACE SURROUNDED! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

They waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two minutes.

"Alright. Let's head on in," Wilson ordered. They stormed through the front door, all of the NHPD and NYPD and FBI.

"Police! Hands! Hands!" they were shouting. Marian could hear them, even down in the basement. She looked around anxiously. Could they get out? Most likely, not…damn! Why hadn't Marian invested in a pair of running shoes after all?

"Director!" Roland shouted again.

"_What?"_

"It's 'de girl. Her breathing's shallow. And she needs more anesthetic."

"Fuck!" Marian swore. She looked around the room, randomly grabbing supplies. _First, tie her up. Stop the blood flow. _She frantically rushed to stitch Max's neck shut, the loud beeping of the heart monitor adding to her anxiety. _Okay. Anesthetic. Okay. _She added some more to Max's IV, watching as her heart rate slowed down.

The shouting of the cops grew louder.

"You gave her too much!" Roland hissed, pointing at the monitor. Max's heart rate was slow…too slow!

"Put her on oxygen!" Marian ordered him.

There was a crashing noise as the police entered the lab. There were at least ten…maybe twenty!...all holding their guns out.

"Step away from her! Now! Hands where I can see them!" Detective Wilson yelled.

"I can't now! She's hurt!"

Wilson ran over, cuffing the two of them before looking at where Max lay. "Marian Janssen, Roland ter Borcht, you're under arrest for kidnapping, false imprisonment, violation of the terms of your bail, and illegal experimentation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. And," Wilson added, "if anything happens to Max here, you're looking at attempted murder." He shoved Janssen and ter Borcht over to Burns, who dragged them up the stairs and into a New Hampshire police car.

Wilson looked at Max once again. "I'll bring her up, and we'll fly her to Mass General!" he shouted. Wilson rushed to take out all of the wires and tubes attached to her…there were so many of them! What were those _shitheads _doing?

The detective lifted Max up, carrying her carefully. She felt so light and fragile. It was like holding a doll instead of a girl. _Gotta get her up the stairs! _

He carried her outside, where everyone was waiting. Ride, the reporter, along with Batchelder and Dr. Martinez, all rushed over.

"Max!" they all seemed to be shouting at once. The whole front yard was bedlam-a mixture of the blaring of sirens, news reporters, and the three of them going _Max Max Max Max Max. _

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Valencia said. "Is she alright?"

"I don't know, Dr. Martinez," Wilson said quickly. "We're gonna fly her over to Mass General in Boston." He loaded Max into the helicopter, followed by Ride and her parents.

"Max! Can you hear me?" Fang shouted. Valencia was leaning over her. Jeb had his face in his hands.

Finally, Max opened her eyes slowly.

"Fang," she whispered, smiling sleepily. "You all came."

"We did, Max," Fang said, more softly. "And you're going to be okay."

"I know. I love you," she whispered again.

Fang squeezed her hand. He had never been more relieved in his life.

Max closed her eyes once again, visions of fluffy clouds and Fang's arms running through her brain as the helicopter took off and she fell asleep.


	32. Gang's All Here

**A/N: Happy Fourth of July! Let's all take a few seconds to remember our Founding Fathers, the Constitution, and how our country got to where it is today (: (I'm a political nerd, sorry). I personally had a GREAT day! How about yourselves? **

**Anyway, back to the story! (: **

**Massachusetts General Hospital**

**Boston, MA**

Even before Max awoke, she knew she wasn't in a good situation. The room she was in had that awful antiseptic smell-much like the School or the basement of Marian Janssen's secret house-and she could hear the beeping of a heart monitor in the background.

She didn't want to open her eyes, admit defeat. What had the Whitecoats done to her this time? She must have imagined hearing Fang's voice after all.

She could also hear two voices-two familiar voices-squabbling.

"_Jeb, all I have to do is take a few blood samples-I'm not going to hurt her,_" someone insisted. It sounded like…Anne? Anne Walker. It had to be.

"_No," _Jeb said firmly. _"When she comes to and sees you standing over her with a needle, she's gonna freak out, and that'll be bad. Didn't you hear what Dr. Andrews said? We need to keep her calm. We're lucky they even let me in with her." _

"_Well, you're her father,_" Anne pointed out.

Anne and Jeb…that only meant one thing! Max was still at the School. Yes…that was the unfortunate reality of the situation. They must have run so many tests, she had gone crazy and imagined the past two years. Everything was a lie! She had been _there _the whole time! Max immediately began questioning everything that had happened-was it real, or a fabrication of the Whitecoats?

Finally, she opened her eyes fully. The room she was in was different than the rooms at the School. This one was larger, with more furniture. And all along one wall were vases of flowers and envelopes.

Max spotted a sign on the door: _Massachusetts General Hospital, Intensive Care Unit. _

_Relief! _She wasn't at the School after all, but a real hospital, a legitimate hospital. And she remembered Jeb telling her that Anne Walker-Anne Stephenson, now-had moved up to Boston.

Max took a deep breath, preparing to speak. But her throat felt all scratchy. She only let out a cough. "H-hey," she whispered.

"Max!" Jeb exclaimed, rushing over to her. "I'm so glad you're awake."

Max forgot all about the grudge she was holding against him. She forgot all about Omega and the whole scandal. She was just glad to see the face of someone who cared.

"Good to see you, Jeb," Max whispered again. She cleared her throat.

Jeb smiled, sitting on the side of her bed. "We were really worried for a while."

"What happened?"

"When Janssen and ter Borcht were experimenting on you, they gave you too much anesthesia. We nearly lost you for a while."

"But I'm fine now, right?" Max asked.

"Clearly."

"So I can leave?"

"Soon, Max." Jeb sighed. It was good to see Max was returning to her old self, but she was so _pushy _sometimes!

Max looked at Anne from across the room. "What's Anne doing here?" she asked, without a hint of anger.

"I work here now," Anne explained. When she turned to face Max, a blush spread across her face. Anne was embarrassed! Shameful, at what she had once done to Max. It was like she couldn't bear to face her. "And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I really am."

Max nodded.

"I was an idiot," Anne said. "I made huge mistakes, and suffered the consequences. I just hope I can teach my own son better ways-"

"Anne," Jeb said firmly. "Max is still recovering. Let her be." He turned back to Max, smiling again.

"You guys don't have to apologize. I know you were asspofdjojashd…" She muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Jeb asked with a laugh.

"_I…know…you…were…assllos." _

_Assllos? _What the fuck was an _assllo? _

"What did you say?" Anne asked from across the room.

"_Assholes,_" Max pronounced.

Anne looked at Jeb, confused.

"She said…" Jeb laughed at Max's comment. "We don't have to apologize, because she knows we were assholes."

Another blush spread across Anne's face at the recognition that she had just been called out by one of her former test subjects. _Assholes. _How could anyone hurt Max after she shut people down with lines like that? But she laughed regardless.

"Good to see you, Max," she said. "I'll be back in a little bit." Anne quickly exited the room.

"Anyway, you're right. I know I was an asshole," Jeb admitted. "I should've told you the full story. I just didn't think that things would unravel the way they did."

"What are you gonna do about Omega?" she asked.

Jeb shrugged. "Not sure, to be honest. I think he'd be better off with Jack, at least for now while I get my life on track, you know? But I'd like to start spending time with him. Kid needs a good role model in his life."

"We don't want him to grow up like his mom."

"No, we don't. That's for sure," Jeb said.

"And how's Ari?" Max asked, referring to her half-brother who, formerly an Eraser, had moved out to California to study at UC-San Diego.

"Oh, he's great. He's here right now, actually. Him and-"

"Jeb!" someone groaned from outside the door. "It was supposed to be a surprise!"

A group of people walked into the room. Fang, Angel, Monique "Nudge" Jones, and James "Iggy" Griffith. Behind that group were a few other people: Ari Batchelder, Ella, and Omega.

"Aaayyy!" Max exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "The gang's all here."

"More like the Flock," Nudge said with a laugh. "Remember that nickname?"

For the longest time after the Itex raid, Max, Fang, Angel, Nudge, and Iggy had been called the "Flock," both on the street and on TV appearances, due to their tendency to stick together like a flock of birds. The juvenile nickname got old after a few months, but their friendship hadn't. Even though they all lived in different places now, they were still close friends.

"The Flock. Right," Max corrected herself. "My bad."

"How're you holding up?" Fang asked.

Max shrugged. "Alright," she said, leaning back. "Better now that you guys are here. What _are _all of you doing here?"

"We're on break," Nudge explained. "Isn't that good luck? We took the Amtrak up from DC to Penn Station. Then we heard about you, and took the next train up to Boston. Faneuil Hall's really nice, you know! Maybe after you're feeling better, we can all go and take one of those Duck Boat tours. You know, the boats that can drive on land-

"Nudge!" Iggy shouted, laughing. "Jeez, man. Let someone else get a word in."

"Sorry," she said.

"I'm on break too," Ari said. "I was planning on coming back anyway, but then all this…BS went down. So I took the train with Nudge and Iggy."

"And us," Ella and Angel said in unison. "We all came together."

Max almost teared up at the thought that all of her friends and family came here for her. She really did have people who cared about her. Even Jeb and Anne weren't so horrible.

She looked behind the group of people, finally spotting Omega, the only person who hadn't spoken yet.

Omega. Omega Janssen. What was _he _doing here? Max thought he had it out for her for going against Marian! But he didn't look the least bit angry.

"Your name's Omega, right?" she asked the kid.

Omega nodded. "Well, legally it's Oliver, but Omega's my nickname," he said. He cracked a smile.

Jeb was shocked. Omega, smiling? Jeb had never once seen him smile.

"What are you doing here?" Max asked.

"I just thought it was the right thing to do," he said with a shrug. "My mom's in jail and all, so I thought I should try and make up for it."

"It's not your fault," Max told him. "Marian's in jail?"

Omega nodded. "She got arraigned a few hours ago, and Judge Laurent had her remanded. So she's at Rikers Island."

Max couldn't help but grin. _Rikers Island! _The baddest, toughest jail in New York City. _Ha! Serves her right! _

A doctor stepped into the room. Max immediately tensed up, despite knowing she was safe and surrounded by her friends and family. She had a feeling she'd still be uncomfortable around people in white coats for a while.

"Okay, Ms. Martinez," he said, studying a clipboard. "Everything looks good. I'd recommend staying a couple more hours to rest, but then it should be fine if you leave. You've done well."

"Thanks," Max said. She yawned. Max was still tired…so tried…from the whole ordeal.

"We'll let you rest up," Fang said. "See you soon!" Fang herded the group out of the room, Jeb being the last to leave.

"If you ever need to talk to someone," Jeb said, "I'm here."

He exited the room, but not before looking at her with the eyes of an honest man.


	33. Felony Row

When Max opened her eyes for the second time that day, her hospital room was completely empty, except for one person. Fang. He was sitting in a chair next to her bed, his dark hair drooping mysteriously over his eye. He looked like he was staring at something-at what, Max couldn't tell.

"Fang," she said. "Hey."

Fang immediately perked up. His eyes widened, and he brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Max! You're awake again."

"No shit, Sherlock," she joked, laughing weakly. She sat up slowly, feeling Fang's warm hand on her back as he helped her sit up against the fluffy pillows.

Fang sighed, looking at her form before sitting down on the bed next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, playing with a strand of her hair. Max smiled at the feeling of his touch.

Suddenly, he lifted up Max's hair. "What's on your neck?"

"What?" Max asked, suddenly becoming alert.

"There's a row of stitches, with a scar of some sort. What happened?"

Max shrugged. "I don't know," she said, looking at the ceiling and blinking away tears in memory of what she had been through. "It must have been…_those two._"

Fang nodded slowly. "What…what did they do to you? Janssen and ter Borcht?"

Max leaned against him for support. "Really bad things," Max said. "Like the things the Whitecoats did at the School."

Fang wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Max. I can't believe it. When I get my hands on them…" He shook his head.

Max reached out, grabbing his hand. "I'm fine now," she told him. "I'm fine now. Just…don't leave me? Promise?"

"I promise," Fang said. "Whatever they did, we'll get through it together. It'll all be okay."

Max smiled again.

"Did I ever tell you how I first learned about your case?"

"It was for a school assignment, right?"

Fang nodded. "For my major, we have to get one internship credit a year. Lucky me, I landed one with the _New York Times. _I always knew I wanted to do crime reporting, but I sure as hell got lucky when Al Rosenberg told me I'd be working on a missing persons case." Fang smiled, remembering when Rosenberg had approached him, saying _Hope you've got the balls for a big case like this, kid! _"He showed me your picture, and on that day, I knew. I knew you were going to be okay, and I was going to find you. And look at us now."

Max nodded. "Yeah. And then you and Brigid Dwyer came to break me out of there," she added.

"Brigid Dwyer. I remember her," Fang said. "Hard to believe it was two years ago, huh?"

"Sure is," Max said. "Sometimes, I wish I could make it all go away. But then I wouldn't have met you."

"You know, someone told me once that everything happens for a reason. I'm beginning to think that's true," Fang said. "And you know what else? Now we have the chance to really _change _the world."

Max nodded again. She stood up for the first time in almost a full day and walked over to the window. Looking outside, she could see news vehicles parked outside of the hospital. "Well, based on all the attention we've been getting, I think we already have." She smiled at Fang. "Come on. I'm feeling better. Let's head back to New York. We've got the Director's ass to kick."

**Rikers Island Correctional Facility**

**Rose M. Singer Center for Women**

The Rose M. Singer Center at Rikers Island was designed like most other jails. There were groups of cells, called a cell block, all facing one room called the pod room. The pod room contained little other than some metal chairs and tables (all bolted to the floor, of course), a vending machine which sold an assortment of junk food, a radio, and an outdated TV. The Singer Center wasn't designed to provide inmates with the luxuries of the world.

Marian Janssen, after being denied bail, was being held in Block D, referred to as "Felony Row." All of the inmates in Felony Row had committed some sort of high-profile crime: mostly murders, with the occasional kidnapping or major drug offense, and now, illegal experimentation. Her cellmate, or "cellie," as it was referred to in prison lingo, was a woman by the name of Deena Morales. Deena had been surprisingly open with Marian upon her arrival.

"_My name's Deena Morales," _she had said. When asked what she was in for, Deena replied, _"Caught my sonofabitch husband screwing my neighbor. Killed him. Killed the bitch, too. And I don't regret a motherfuckin' thing." _

Marian had opened her mouth to reply, but Deena quickly interrupted. _"Aw, hell, you don't gotta say what you in for. We already know who you are 'round here._"

At that moment, Marian, along with the other Felony Row inmates, was sitting in the pod room. Twice a day, from ten to one and six to ten, they had what was called "pod time," which was basically a time for the inmates to congregate and watch TV. Not that Marian had any desire to do that. All of the major news stations had been running the story about Max's kidnapping repeatedly, and Marian couldn't stand to see her mug shot flashed across national news, and see the contemptuous looks the other inmates gave her.

_Like you have so much to be proud of! _she thought angrily. _Who are you to judge me? We're all in this place together, after all! _

Marian couldn't hear herself think over the thumping of the radio. One of the inmates-Lulu, she had heard her name was-had the radio turned to some awful hip-hop station. It was obnoxious! How could anyone _stand _to listen to that…noise? It was the music of barbarians, Amazon women, not people of civilized society! And the guards…why weren't they doing anything about it?

She saw Lulu and her cronies move away from the radio. This was her chance! She stood up, walked over to the dilapidated radio, and shut it off, before turning around to sit back down. An awkward silence fell upon the pod room.

"What the _fuck _did you just do?" Lulu snapped. Marian turned around to face Lulu-a tall, slightly overweight African-American woman with hair that resembled the lead singer of that band LMFAO. "Bitch, come back here!"

Without batting an eyelash, Marian snapped, "I'm sorry. I don't speak ghetto."

"Oh, you don't speak ghetto, huh?" Lulu asked. "_Well_, I don't speak prissy punk-ass Whitecoat bitch!"

"Ooooh, yeah!" one of her friends cheered. "Get the bitch! Tell 'er what the fuck's up!"

Marian's face reddened. How could she respond to being called a _prissy punk-ass Whitecoat bitch? _

"You wanna say that shit again, huh?" Lulu grabbed Marian's elbow. "You gotta know your place around here, Janssen."

With that, Lulu took a swing at Marian's face, knocking her to the floor. All of Lulu's friends crowded around to watch her beat up the Director.

Corrections Officer Tim Collins knew something was up from the shouting and screaming going on in the pod room.

"Hey," he shouted, walking over to the group of women, a clump of bright orange. "Hey! Knock it off!"

He pulled Lulu off of Marian. Collins knew Lulu was trouble-she was a big-time drug dealer, in on her fourth offense. And Marian Janssen, well, she was no better legally, but definitely couldn't take on a woman like Lulu.

"Back to your cells!" Collins shouted. "All of you! Pod time's over. And anyone who starts anymore bullshit's goin' to solitary, you understand me?"

Marian pulled herself off the floor, feeling a searing pain in her face. That bitch Lulu had really gotten her bad! She couldn't believe it. Was _this _what prison life was really all about?

As she walked back to her cell, she could hear the other inmates jeering at her.

"_Say your prayers, Marian Janssen,_" one of them hissed.

From another woman, _"Eat shit, Whitecoat._"

She sighed, sitting down on her bed across from Deena.

"I saw what happened," Deena said. "Damn. You lookin' to get yo' ass kicked, or what?"

Marian ignored her. "Why wouldn't they do anything?" Marian wondered out loud. "They didn't punish Lulu or anything. The guard just sent us all back to our cells. Why?"

Deena sat up. "Let me tell you somethin'. The rules are a lot different in here than out there, you know?"

"But I'm-"

She waved her hand. "Fuck all that Director-of-Itex, Park-Avenue-Princess shit. You in _Rikers _now, Marian. You ain't in Itex no more."

"At least we treated those kids better there," Marian muttered. "We fed them decent food and kept the damn place clean!"

Deena chuckled. "That may be. I dunno. I wouldn't have wanted to be taken there. But you experimented-" _speerminted _"-on kids. And that makes you a child abuser. And if you a child abuser in here, you at the bottom of the food chain. The lowest of the low. A real piece a' shit."

Marian was torn between listening to Deena's advice and putting her state-issued pillow over her ears to avoid hearing her state summarized so bluntly and truthfully.

"You gotta toughen up," Deena continued. "Learn how to hold your own."

Marian nodded.

"And fix up yo' face before you go walkin' around," Deena advised Marian. "Trust me, those girls don't need any more excuses to fuck someone like you up."

"Lights out!" a guard announced. The entire block went dark.

Marian leaned back in her bed, thinking about what was to come. She had court the very next day-in the courtroom of Judge Renee Laurent. Her lawyer was pissed at her for pulling such a stunt, and the prosecution had witnesses lined up at the door to testify against her. No matter how hopeful she tried to be, Marian couldn't help but think that she was utterly fucked.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, the chants of _Eat shit, Whitecoat _still echoing in her head.


	34. Getting It On At Five AM

**A/N: So sorry that I haven't updated in...forever (by my standards, at least), but guess what? I'M AT BOSTON UNIVERSITY! :D I've been having so much fun here, I've already made some awesome friends and have been doing so much fun stuff. I love college haha! I'll still be updating, just more sporadically. But you'll want to stay tuned, since Marian, everyone's favorite criminal, will go on trial next chapter :D**

**Also, mad credz for this chapter goes to TheCatWithTheHat. She wrote the Max/Fang tickle fight scene because I am absolutely horrendous at writing romance. So yeah, you should all fly on over to her profile and give her stories a try (:**

**Peace out!**

* * *

Max, her mother already having notified NYU of her situation, decided to stay over at her family's apartment the night before Marian Janssen's trial, along with Fang.

She awoke at four AM exactly from a fitful night's sleep. She had been dreaming about something, something terrifying, but once she woke up the dream luckily slipped from her mind.

Taking care not to wake Ella, who was sleeping in the bed next to hers, Max padded out to the room and into the kitchen.

"You're up early," a voice said. Max spun around in shock, spotting Fang, wearing Max's favorite blue boxers and an NYPD T-shirt, leaning casually against the windowsill.

"Could say the same for you," Max shot back, walking over to him. "What are you doing at this hour?"

Fang shrugged. "Sleep's not my thing."

Max thought back to two years ago. She had just escaped from the School, and decided to call Fang after having a bad dream. Despite it being ridiculously early, Fang had answered her call immediately and even had a conversation with her.

"Me neither."

She suddenly remembered her dream. Something about...wings? And being chased by werewolf-like Erasers. _Scary shit._

"Looking forward to court?" Fang asked.

"Eh," Max said. "Kind of. I sorta wish they'd just convict her without all the pomp and circumstance. We all know she did it."

Fang rolled his eyes. "Gotta be fair. Trial by jury and all that." He yawned.

"Aw, Fang's sleepy," Max joked, nudging him gently.

"Am not," Fang said. "But...I bet Max is ticklish." He grabbed her around the waist.

"Ah!" Max giggled, trying to push him away. "We're gonna wake everyone up!"

"You're making excuses..." Fang said darkly in her ear, and then his fingers squeezed her sides, sending her over the edge. Her giggles and shrieks floated through the SoHo apartment as he poked and prodded her.

"Ah...so Max IS ticklish," he concluded, as she scrabbled desperately against his arms while her body convulsed with laughter. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, still laughing breathlessly.

"Very ticklish," he added, raising an eyebrow at her face.

"Fang...stop..." she giggled weakly, out of breath from laughing. Smirking, he raised his hands from her body, letting her pull herself onto the couch and recover. As soon as she had settled, he dove on top of her and began to tickle again, laughing out loud at her desperate laughter. Her delicate hands scrambled at his own sides in vain.

"Lucky for me. I'm not ticklish at all," Fang informed her smugly.

"Everyone's...ticklish...somewhere," Max gasped between breaths. Her fingers spidered their way up his chest, and Fang's eyes darkened. He lifted her hands away from his body and stopped tickling her.

"I bet I was getting close," she pouted.

"Um...no, you weren't," Fang said, thinking fast. "In fact, you were getting farther away..."

Max grinned. "Then I know where your tickle spot is," she said, and wrestled him down, grabbing his leg and pinning it to her chest. With a devious grin, she put a hand to his foot and began to tickle the arch.

Despite himself, Fang's foot began to jerk, and a laugh bubbled from between his lips.

"Wait - no -" he laughed, but she was relentless, and soon Fang was squirming and kicking on the couch, his leg twisting in her grasp and his other leg jerking wildly.

"Ahahaha! Max! Cut...cut it out!" he gasped, his chest heaving as the laughter spewed from his lips. He squirmed, his arms flailing about as Max's fingers clawed at the bottom on his foot and she held him in place. With a devilish smile she looked away from his face and continued her work. That was a mistake.

Fang's foot was suddenly wrenched from her grasp and she was lying on her back with him above her on the couch. She stared wide-eyed into his dark eyes, her heart thumping.

"Wait -" she squeaked. "Just joking...?"

"Too late," Fang growled, and then the tickling was everywhere, and she spasmed and laughed and squirmed beneath him as he tickled her expressionlessly. Finally he took away his hand and she lay still except for her heaving chest.

"Hmm...maybe sleep IS my thing after all," she murmured to him.

"I don't think so," Fang said, "you're just scared I'm gonna do it again."

Max paused. "Maybe a little," she admitted with a grin.

"Psh, you don't need to me scared of me," Fang said, lowering his head until their noses were almost touching. Her milk chocolate eyes locked on his dark chocolate ones.

"Good thing I'm not," she whispered breathlessly.

Fang lowered his head a little more and their lips met, eyes sliding closed. Max put her hands on his back and pulled him closer, then slid her hands up and threaded her fingers through his hair. She inhaled, smelling that wet pine-y scent that was uniquely Fang, that made her think of pleasant things, like the woods of upstate New York. She could feel the heat of his body pressed up on hers, could feel his tongue running along her mouth. She could taste him too - the lingering coffee he must have drank earlier, the minty toothpaste he'd used since then.

"What the HELL? It's, like, SIX O'CLOCK in the FUCKING MORNING, guys!"

Fang was off of Max faster than you could say "busted," looking up guiltily at Angel, who was standing in the doorway. Her hair was a little tousled, her purple pajamas were rumpled, and her hand was propped on her hip as she stared them down disapprovingly.

"Uh...hi, Angel," Fang said, grinning weakly and scratching the back of his head. "Didn't see ya there."

"Well, 'course you didn't, I mean, why the hell would you be looking at anything else," Angel remarked scathingly. She marched over to the clock on the wall, rolling her eyes all the while. "It's _five _in the morning. _Are you kidding me?"_

From down the hall, they heard a sleepy-sounding voice say, "Aaayy."

Max turned to look. Ella was standing there, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked. _Wuzzgoinon?_

Max looked at Fang.

"Oops," she mouthed, sitting up.

"Those _two,_" Angel snapped, pointing at Max and Fang, "were _getting it on _at _five AM._"

Ella looked confused before wrinkling her nose. "I don't wanna know," Ella said, her voice still sounding sleepy. _Idunwannaknow._

"No, you don't," Angel said.

"I plead guilty, Judge Angel Adams," Max joked, holding her hands up as if she was under arrest. That reminded her of _why _they were awake, the trial.

Max looked up at the clock. "Well, no point gong back to bed now," she said with a sigh, trying to hide her rapidly increasing nervousness. "Who wants me to make breakfast?"

"NOBODY," Ella, Angel, and Fang shouted at the same time.

Max rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, I get it. Let's go to the diner instead," she suggested. There was a 24-hour diner located on their block, famous for their egg, cheese, and bacon sandwiches.

An egg, cheese, and bacon sandwich sounded just right to Max at that moment. Maybe if she ate enough greasy food, she could forget all about that day's trial. It was five hours away, after all. She still had time to kill before she took the witness stand.


	35. Objection!

**A/N: So when I first uploaded it, I kind of rushed through it and watered down the legal stuff /: And I don't really like doing that. So I decided to rewrite and reupload it! (: Hope you like this version better! **

* * *

They hadn't had to take the subway or a cab to the Bronx District Courthouse. Instead, the New York City Department of Justice had provided a limo for Max, Dr. Martinez, Ella, Fang, and Angel to take them to the courthouse.

Max felt the mood in the car shift as they neared the intimidating marble building. They had been talking and laughing the whole ride up, but now, there was an unavoidable tension in the air. The radio was still blaring some incessant Gym Class Heroes song, but Max tuned it out as she saw the car approach the stairs leading to the Bronx courthouse.

"I'm surprised you're not with them," Max said, pointing to the herd of reporters standing on the stairs. Many of them were holding microphones and talking into cameras.

Fang shrugged. "Eh. I'd rather be with you than those guys," he told Max. "Besides, what really matters is what happens _inside _the courtroom."

"Right," Max said, forcing a smile.

The limo driver, wearing a white polo shirt and slacks as opposed to a typical driver's uniform, opened their door. Fang stepped out, then Max, then Ella, then Angel, and finally Dr. Martinez. The group began making their way towards the large doors of the courthouse.

"Don't let the reporters freak you out," Fang advised her. "They just want the truth. Don't be shy. Tell 'em what happened, but don't waste too much time on them either. We're not here to impress them." _  
_

"I know," Max said. "I've done this before." But still, she felt her stomach flip-flop as the camera-toting reporters grew closer and closer.

"Max Martinez!" one of them shouted. "Are you going to be testifying today?"

"Yeah," Max shouted back.

"Do you have any thoughts on the case?"

Max thought for a minute. "I'm...glad to be safe at home and glad that I'm about to...do a service for my community."

She spun around, advancing up the stairs. Finally, they reached the courthouse, where ADAs Rachel Kearney and Richie Carrozzi were there to greet everyone.

"Morning," Kearney said, nodding at the group. Max nodded back respectfully before entering the courthouse.

They walked down a long marble hall, finally opening a large set of double doors and walking into the courtroom itself. Max felt her heart rate quicken as she scoped out the scene. It looked like half of the city had to be there.

"How about we sit here?" Dr. Martinez suggested, pointing to an empty row of seats. "I'll let you and Angel have the aisle seat. That'll make it easier for you to go up to testify."

Max nodded, and scooted in next to her mother.

Fang sighed and looked towards the front row, where all of the other reporters were seated. "I should probably go with them," he said.

Max didn't want him to leave. She wanted to grab his hand and keep him there with her. But what she said was, "Good idea. Go ahead."

Fang smiled. "Good luck," he told her. "I'll be rooting for you. We all are."

"Thanks," Max said.

As more people entered the courtroom, the noise level became quieter and quieter. Finally, the courtroom clerk stood up.

"All rise! Case number five-eight-three-two-nine, the People versus Marian Janssen, is now in session! The honorable Judge Renee Laurent will be presiding. You may be seated."

There she was, the great leader of justice herself, the head-turning Judge Renee Laurent. She sat down at her podium, eyeing the court with a stern look on her face.

"The people may make their opening statement," she said, nodding at ADA Kearney.

ADA Kearney was nervous inside, but she thought of what Detective Wilson had told her a few days ago. _You're doing this for justice, _she told herself. _Give 'em hell. _

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Rachel Kearney, and I am here to represent the People of the State and City of New York during this trial. The case being tried today is a case not only of the state versus an individual, but justice and freedom versus crime and injustice. The defendant, Dr. Janssen, is being accused of illegal experimentation and kidnapping, two very heinous felonies that have a huge negative impact on society." She paused. _Evidence, _she reminded herself. "The evidence that you will see today clearly proves that Dr. Janssen is a dangerous woman with no sense of right and wrong, and should be found guilty. You'll hear testimony from Janssen's victims, investigators, innocent bystanders whose lives were affected by the defendant, and even some of Dr. Janssen's former colleagues and employees. You'll see files and reports outlining the type of horrific experiments Janssen performed on children and teenagers. You will also hear testimony from the defense trying to persuade you that Janssen's actions were actually justified, and she does not deserve to be convicted. However, over the course of this trial I ask you to think of the facts. Simply put, if you feel that these crimes cannot be tolerated in society, please, do the lawful thing and convict the defendant." With a single nod in Judge Laurent's direction, Kearney sat back down, her face flushed in exhilaration. _She had done it! _And it was only the beginning!

Mike Bernstein, on the other hand, already looked defeated. He still wanted to win the case, of course, but at the same time was tempted to throw up his hands and say "fuck it all." He had _tried! _He tried to do a good job, and Marian had gone and pulled something like that! Now, his first big case-his first case overall-was on the brink of failure.

_Bye, bye, law career, _he thought dejectedly as he stood up. _Bye, bye happiness. _

"Um, good morning. I am Michael Bernstein, and I'm here to defend my client, Dr. Marian Janssen. Ladies and gentlemen, during this investigation, my client has endured a lot of name-calling and accusations, most under false pretenses. In our court system, a defendant is considered innocent until proven guilty. I can't tell you how many times I've seen or heard of people already considering my client to be guilty. There's nothing just about that. Furthermore, Assistant District Attorney Kearney called my client a 'dangerous woman with no sense of right and wrong.' My evidence will show that Dr. Janssen is less of a heartless criminal, and more of a very troubled person who found herself on the wrong side of the law. Dr. Janssen needs professional help, not to be locked away by the state and forgotten about like all other convicts of this city. Please, make the right decision and acquit my client."

Bernstein sat down, hunching over apologetically.

"Thank you, Ms. Kearney, Mr. Bernstein. The People may call their first witness," Laurent said.

"The People call Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen to the stand," Kearney announced.

The Whitecoat-turned-legitimate-doctor calmly stood at the witness stand and placed his hand over the bible presented to him.

"State your name and address for the record."

"Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen. 431 East 20th Street, New York, New York."

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" he was asked.

"I do," Gunther-Hagen said calmly.

"You may be seated."

The man sat down. Kearney approached him.

"Dr. Gunther-Hagen, what is your current employment status?" Kearney asked him.

"I'm an emergency physician at Bellevue Hospital, in Manhattan."

"How long have you had this position?"

"Since 2003. Ten years," the doctor said.

"And what was your job before that?"

"I worked for Itex Laboratories for four years," Gunther-Hagen said, his face blushing an embarrassed shade of red as he admitted that.

"What was your position at Itex?"

"I...I supervised general experimentation," he said.

"Dr. Gunther-Hagen, you worked for Itex for four years. At any point, did you suspect illegal activity was occurring at the facility?"

"Well..." His voice trailed off. "Yes. I did."

"What kind of illegal activity?"

"When Itex first started, they didn't use children. At least not without their parents' permission. But Marian-the defendant-was very, um, pushy in getting people to agree to these tests. And she'd trick them. She wouldn't pay them as much as she was supposed to. Then, stuff started going on that just made me uncomfortable."

"What kind of stuff was that?"

"I found out she was experimenting on her son. And she was pressuring Jeb to give her his daughter-Max-as well. She said it just made more sense that way," Gunther-Hagen said, ignoring the glare Marian was shooting him from the defendant's seating area. "I was there the first time they kidnapped someone. They were a set of twins. Allison and Christopher. After experimenting on their mother, she died of complications and she just...took them. Didn't tell anyone."

"How were these two children treated?"

"Horribly. Even worse than you saw during the police raid. They had to sleep in a storage closet and were only fed every other day, if they were lucky. Itex was just starting up then, you know. They couldn't really afford to take good care of them. And Marian really didn't care. She just wanted to cut corners and make money," Gunther-Hagen insisted.

"Let me ask you a question, Dr. Gunther-Hagen. If you knew all of this was going on, and were disturbed by it, why didn't you notify the police?"

Gunther-Hagen sighed, looking towards the ceiling. "I don't know, to be honest," he admitted. "I really just wanted to get out of there and forget about the whole thing. Plus, at that point she was getting pretty powerful. She's attractive, and charming, you know. She had all of the big Wall Street investors eating out of the palm of her hand. I have a son, you know. Dylan. I didn't want him to get involved in any way. Honestly, I'm lucky I got out before things got really out of control. If I had stayed a few more years..." He shook his head, as if to say, _fuggetaboutit. _

"Thank you, Dr. Gunther-Hagen. The prosecution rests." Kearney walked back to her seat.

"The defense may cross-examine the witness," Laurent said, nodding at Bernstein, who scrambled to his feet, dropping a few papers in the process.

"Dr. Gunther-Hagen, up until now you remained entirely neutral on the Itex case. In fact, you didn't even testify during the original trial two years ago. What makes you change sides now?"

"Objection!" Kearney shouted, standing up. "The question asked is inflammatory."

Laurent glared at Bernstein. "Mr. Bernstein, please rephrase your question."

Bernstein sighed. "Why the sudden...interest in aiding the prosecution?"

Gunther-Hagen shrugged. "I figured it was time for the world to know what Marian's really doing. I wanted to do the right thing."

"Let's talk about your son," Bernstein said. "What did you mean when you said that you didn't want him to get involved in the case?"

"Let me put it this way. Dr. Janssen's not above experimenting on her _own _son. She's not above experimenting on _Jeb's _kid. She's not even above kidnapping other people's kids! What makes you think she'd leave my son alone if it came down to that?"

Marian was really glaring at the witness now. The phrase _if looks could kill _popped into Gunther-Hagen's head.

_Don't worry, _he told himself. _She's the one on trial. _

"What I really want to know is, how you lasted at Itex for so long before quitting. If it was really that bad, why were you working there in the first place?"

"Like I told the prosecution, it didn't start out that bad. And even when things got a little convoluted, Marian and Jeb and Anne were my closest friends. We had sort of a sense of camaraderie that made it hard to quit, besides Marian's power-play stuff."

"A sense of camaraderie," Bernstein clarified. "That's interesting. Is it true that you actually had intimate relations with my client at one point? And that's why she didn't want you to quit?"

_What? _ADA Kearney thought. She quickly stood up, an _Objection! _flying out of her mouth. That question was wrong in so many ways.

"Mr. Bernstein's question is irrelevant. Not only that, he's leading the witness and relying on hearsay."

"No!" Gunther-Hagen shouted, despite the objection that was called. "I _never _had sex with the Director! That was _Jeb!" _

The courtroom started talking loudly. Laurent angrily banged her gavel.

"Dr. Gunther-Hagen, watch your mouth!" the judge snapped. "The jury will disregard the witness's statement regarding the defendant's sexual relationships with others. And the objection is sustained."

"Withdrawn," Bernstein said with a sigh. "The defense rests."

As he walked back to his seat, he thought, _Yeah. The defense rests, six feet under. _That had probably been the worst set of questions a defense attorney could ask.

Max looked to where Fang was seated. He looked back at her, giving her a reassuring smile.

_We're one witness closer to a conviction, _she thought. She looked above the judge's podium, where an image of Lady Justice holding her scale was carved into the wooden wall.

Call her crazy, but Max could've sworn Lady Justice was smiling.


	36. A Tough Day for Everyone

**A/N: I'm back! :D Actually I've been back since Friday afternoon. I just wanted to take a couple of days to unwind and whatnot. So please forgive my absence! I PROMISE I'll be back on my regular updating schedule as this story draws to a close *sniff***

**Enjoy, and PLEASE review!**

* * *

Marian Janssen had a bad feeling as soon as she saw Hans Gunther-Hagen take the witness stand. The feeling intensified when John Reilly testified after him. All of these people, people who were once on _her _side, now, it seemed, were jumping at the chance to turn against her. She couldn't believe it! It was as if they had all forgotten about all Marian had done for them and rolled over to please the New York City Department of Justice. What was _wrong _with them?

"The People call Angel Adams to the stand," she heard ADA Kearney say.

Marian whipped her head around to see the blonde girl walking down the courtroom aisle. She, ironically, looked rather angelic. The young girl's hair was perfectly coiffed, and she wore a white lace dress with a suit jacket on top. Her outfit looked so perfectly planned, it was disgusting. The whole _case _was an act! A publicity stunt!

Ignoring her lawyer's whispered demand for her to turn around, Marian couldn't help but glare at Angel.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the clerk asked Angel.

"I do," she said softly.

"You may be seated."

Angel bit her lip, looking out at the crowd. She tried to ignore the fact that they were all there, staring at her. Especially that awful woman, the Director.

_Pretend they're not there,_ she reminded herself. _There's nobody here but you today._

"State your name and address for the record," the clerk instructed her.

"Angel Emily Adams. 105 Sullivan Street, New York, New York."

"Angel, you're in high school now, correct?" Kearney asked Angel. She knew, from what the other prosecutors she worked with had told her, that it was better to ease the witness into their testimony with some general questions.

Angel nodded. "Yes. I'm a freshman at Stuyvesant."

"How old were you when you were kidnapped?" the ADA asked.

"I was twelve. Two years ago," she informed the jury.

"Can you describe your kidnapping?"

"It was a few weeks after my parents went missing," Angel explained. "I was...trying to make ends meet, living alone with my brother Gazzy. We were running out of money. Things like that. Then one day, I went out to get some soy milk for Gazzy, since he had some digestive problems, and some...Whitecoat injected me with something. The next thing I knew, I had woken up at Itex."

"And what did you experience there?"

Angel sighed. "To be honest, I was pretty out of it for most of the time. They gave me a lot of drugs. But I was really scared."

"Did you ever get to see your brother after you were kidnapped?"

She thought. "Once. Jeb let me see him. At that point, though, he was in pretty awful shape. He could barely talk. All he really said to me was, 'It hurts, Angel. I miss Mom and Dad.'" Angel looked down, wiping a tear from her eye.

The courtroom sat in shock, listening to what Angel had said. It was just so tragic, the whole thing. How could anyone treat another human being like that?

"Did you have any contact with Dr. Janssen?"

Angel looked up, nodding. "Yeah. She came to see me one day because she thought I helped Max escape. She started yelling at me, then drugged me again."

"Thank you, Angel." Kearney nodded at Judge Laurent.

"The defense may cross-examine the witness," Laurent said.

Bernstein stood once again. "Angel...you said your name was?" he asked.

Angel nodded.

"You testified earlier that your parents had gone missing prior to your kidnapping, and that you were on the verge of poverty, correct?" Bernstein asked.

"Yes. I was really worried that my brother and I would end up on the streets," she said.

"But you didn't end up on the streets, correct? Instead, as you said, you ended up at Itex."

"I didn't _end up _at Itex," Angel insisted. "I was _kidnapped."_

"Kidnapped. Right." Bernstein put his hands in his pockets. "Then again, given your situation, it could've been a good thing that happened to you, correct? I mean, there, you had a roof over your heads and food to eat."

"Ob_jection_!" Kearney shouted, slamming the palms of her hands down on the table in front of her.

"Are you kidding?" Angel snapped. "Are you seriously saying that I _wanted _to be kidnapped and experimented on? Why would anyone want that to happen to them? I'll never get over what happened to me there! I'd rather be _dead _then go through that again!"

Laurent banged her gavel. "Mr. Bernstein, you're out of order!"

Angel stood up from the witness stand and ran over to the defense's area. "I _hate _you!" she screamed at Marian. "You're a fucking bitch! What's wrong with you? You ruined my life!"

"Ms. Adams, please sit down!" Laurent insisted. Dr. Martinez was already rushing over to pull Angel away.

"You are the most messed-up person I know, and _I hope you die,_" Angel snapped, before turning around and running out of the courtroom, the large double doors slamming behind her.

The courtroom erupted in chaos. The reporters clicked away at their cameras, the spectators chattered away, and Bernstein and Janssen looked at each other with anxious looks on their faces.

Laurent banged her gavel five times. "Order! _Order!" _she shouted. "Everyone be quiet! And sit down!" She banged her gavel once more. "The jury will disregard the statements made to the defendant by the witness."

"Is the questioning over, or what?" Kearney whispered to Carrozzi. Carrozzi shrugged, not knowing what was going on.

"I've heard of witnesses storming out, but I've never seen it before," he said.

At that moment, Max didn't care about the trial. She just wanted Angel, who was more or less her little sister, to be okay. She wanted Angel to feel safe again. Taking advantage of the sudden commotion, Max stood up and exited the courtroom.

"Hey, Ange," Max said softly to the girl. Angel was sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the hallway, hugging her legs to her chest.

Angel shook her head, brushing a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes. "I can't do this, Max," she insisted. "I just-I can't."

"You already did it," Max reminded Angel. "You testified. And you even got to yell at Marian, no less."

Angel looked up. "I just miss him. A lot."

Max didn't need to ask to know she was talking about Gazzy.

"I know you do," Max said. "But you know what? If he was here, he'd be real proud of you. We're all real proud of you."

Angel wrapped her arms around Max in a childlike way, like she was a little girl again.

"We really have all been to hell and back in the past couple of years," Max continued. She rubbed the back of her neck where the stitches were, reminding her of all that had happened. "I mean, look at Iggy. He didn't get kidnapped, but he still ended up blind. And all that drama with Jeb and that other kid Omega. Everything else. The only way to put a stop to it is to tell people the truth." She remembered that in a few hours, it would be her testifying. Her on that stand.

Angel nodded. "I guess you're right. Like Fang did with his book."

"Exactly. If we show people that this shit's wrong, then we'll be able to end it once and for all. And if we can't end it, at least people will know what really happened."

The door opened once again. It was Fang, along with Dr. Martinez.

"Judge Laurent decided to adjourn the case for the day," Dr. Martinez said. "That'll give us all a break. I know it's been a tough day for everyone."

Max laughed. "That's the understatement of the year." She stood up, stretching her arms. "Why don't we get out of here before the crazy reporters find us? No offense, Fang."

"None taken," Fang said with a shrug and a smile.

"We can get frozen yogurt," Dr. Martinez suggested. "Maybe even watch an episode or two of Law and Order."

"Oh, God." Max laughed again.

The four of them stood up and walked towards the courtroom exit.

"You're gonna be alright," Max whispered to Angel. "We all are."


	37. All of Us

In an elegant hotel room overlooking Times Square, Omega and Jack Janssen sat in silence, the younger of the two staring aimlessly at all of the lights and people of the city.

The situation regarding Omega's testimony had gotten quite complicated. It was assumed that he'd testify for his mother, but the Bronx DA had gotten a subpoena for him while the NYPD was investigating Max's kidnapping. Now, he was going to testify for the prosecution instead.

Omega wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing. Just a week ago, he felt obligated to support Marian. But at that moment, after he heard about all that had happened with Max and everything, he really wasn't so sure. Biologically speaking, she _was _his mother, but other than that she fell short. And dealing with the police and everything had brought back all of the awful memories of what she had done to him years ago. He realized she would never be happy with him; he'd never be perfect enough for her. So why not testify for the prosecution? He didn't owe Marian anything. And it wasn't like he had a choice.

The boy felt a hand clasp his shoulder. "How's it going?" Jack asked him.

Omega shrugged, turning around from the window. "Alright."

"Want to grab dinner?" Jack asked. "There's a good restaurant downstairs. Or we can order room service. We shouldn't stay out too late, they want us up at the courthouse pretty early..."

"I'm not hungry," Omega said flatly.

"Are you sure? You barely ate all day."

"If I was hungry, I'd say I was hungry."

"Oh-kay," Jack sighed. "Well, just let me know if you want anything."

"Fine. I will." He turned back around, staring out the window some more.

"I know this is probably a hard time for you," Jack continued. "Between the trial, and..."

"I mean, I don't _like _being in this position," Omega said. "But, it could be worse, I guess. I could be the one who got arrested."

Jack chuckled. "Glad you're not." He sighed. "But still, do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about?" Omega asked. "Everyone knows she did it. She's gonna go to jail."

"Well, it's more complicated than that," Jack explained. "They've gotta go through the whole legal process. You know, when someone's arrested-"

"I know. They taught us that in middle school. Remember? They brought in a cop to talk to us."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, but I'm sure it feels a lot different when someone in your life's involved in all of that."

"You know what? I don't even know if I can consider Marian-Mom-a part of my life anymore," Omega admitted. "For the longest time, all I wanted was someone to care about me. But I have you and Kristina. Just because she's my mother doesn't mean anything unless she acts like it. And so far, she hasn't been. It just doesn't make sense to keep living in a fantasy world like that."

"You have always liked things to make sense," Jack said. "Hey, maybe after the trial's over, you and me and Kristina can take a trip somewhere for Christmas break. Maybe we can head to California, or even somewhere in Europe."

Omega smiled for the first time in a long while. "Yeah. That sounds...cool."

A knock at their hotel room door caused Jack and Omega to turn around.

"Who's there?" Jack called.

"It's me," a muffled male voice said.

"Who?" Jack asked, walking over to the door. Jack could see, by looking through the door's peephole, that it was Jeb Batchelder. He opened the door slightly.

"Jeb," Jack said with a nod. "What's going on?"

Jeb looked around, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "I just wanted to come by and see Omega-my son. Is that okay? Is he around?"

"Dad?" Omega asked from across the room. He stood up and walked over to the door.

Jack stepped aside, allowing Jeb to walk into the room.

The two didn't say anything to each other; just stood and stared for a few seconds.

Finally, Omega was the first to speak up. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see you," Jeb said. He looked down, then looked up at his son. "This has been a really...interesting couple of years for me. Believe it or not, I think getting arrested was a good thing that happened to me. I've had a lot of time to think about my life, and the people in my life. Like you."

"Yeah?" Omega asked.

"Yeah," Jeb repeated, nodding in agreement. "I really made some bad mistakes. I should've been a better father to Max, to Ari, to you. I...I screwed all of you over. I did terrible things, let terrible things happen-"

"Dad. It's okay," Omega interrupted, walking towards him. "Yeah, you screwed up. But you learned from it. What can we do but move on?"

Jeb sighed. "You're right. You're absolutely right. And I really am sorry." He sat down next to Omega.

Omega looked up. "I accept your apology," he said. He looked over at the wall clock. "Hey, sorry to kick you out, but..."

"I know. It's getting late. Court tomorrow, and all that," Jeb said. "But maybe we can grab a bite to eat for lunch or something? There's this great Thai place Max turned me on to in the East Village."

"You know what? That sounds awesome," Omega said. "Glad to see you again, Dad."

**Pinkberry SoHo**

"Can I help the next person in line?" the girl working at Pinkberry, a popular frozen yogurt eatery, asked Max.

"Um," Max said. "I'll have a large mango frozen yogurt, with strawberry, kiwi, and mango slices, please," Max said.

Fang raised an eyebrow at Max's selection. "Whoa. That's a lot of frozen yogurt."

Max grinned shamelessly as the girl piled toppings onto Max's cup. "I love to eat, Fang. You should know that about me by now." She grabbed the cup, putting a spoonful of the frozen yogurt into her mouth, as if to prove her point.

"I'm not complaining." He shrugged. The two of them sat down at a table along with Angel, Iggy, and Nudge. At the next table over sat Dr. Martinez, Ella, and Ari.

"Good to be back in the city," Iggy said, in between bites of his yogurt.

"Yeah! I missed it here," Nudge added. "DC's awesome and all, but there's no place like home, you know? It's like Jay-Z and Alicia Keys said. _These streets will make you feel brand new, big lights will inspire you..._"

"We get it, Nudge," Iggy said.

Dr. Martinez pulled out that day's copy of the _New York Times. _"Fang, your latest article was impressive as always!" she exclaimed.

"I never read it," Ari said. "Can I see it?"

Dr. Martinez handed him the newspaper, and he began to read it out loud.

_"'_Marian Janssen On Trial Again,'" Ari said, reading the headline. "'For the New York City Criminal Justice System, and the Bronx District Court, it was an eventful day. Notorious doctor and repeat offender Marian Janssen stood trial in the first of soon to be many tense days in court. Witnesses for the prosecution included Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen, a former Itex employee, as well as victim Angel Adams, who wasn't afraid to show her emotional side to the jury.'" Ari looked up from the paper and grinned at Angel. "Good job, Angel. You did great."

Angel blushed, looking down at her dessert. "Thanks, Ari."

Ari continued reading. "'Citizens of New York City have not been shy about their opinions regarding the Janssen trial. Laura Burke, a small business owner and mother of two children, reported that she's glad that the legal system is taking action against Janssen. Former NYPD officer Joseph Moran said that he's happy that the police force is doing its job at keeping the city clean. Overall, it seems that the general public shares a common desire to convict Marian Janssen once and for all.' Want me to continue?"

"Nah," Fang said. He, slightly embarrassed at being put on a pedestal like that, was blushing.

"Aw, come on! Read more!" Max urged Ari.

"We're good," Fang insisted, chuckling.

"Well, I'm just glad we're all here together again. Even if it is for a bad reason," Max said.

"Hey, look at it this way. If it wasn't for all the crazy shit that happened two years ago, none of us would've even met," Iggy reminded them.

"You've got a pretty positive outlook for someone who was blinded in a car accident," Nudge said.

"Go hard or go home, that's my motto." Iggy shrugged.

Angel burst out laughing. "That doesn't even make sense!" she insisted, giggling.

"He's got a point, Angel," Dr. Martinez insisted. "You have to give all you have one hundred percent, no matter what kind of, as Iggy said, crazy shit you have to deal with."

Max nodded in agreement. Then, she held up her cup of frozen yogurt. "Here's to friendship," she announced.

The group held up their cups in unison. "To friendship," they all repeated.

_To all of us, _Max thought, looking around at her friends and family. _Hell, I'm feeling pretty good for being in the middle of a criminal case. _


	38. Nothing But the Truth

"Dr. Janssen, in your own words, describe your position as executive director of Itex Laboratories," ADA Kearney instructed Marian Janssen, who was testifying in her own defense.

"Well, I founded the company," Marian began. "And basically, as the Director, I was in charge of…really, making sure everything ran smoothly." She was trying to describe her job as best as she could without incriminating herself. "I did the financial stuff, you know, working with investors to get funds…" Her voice trailed off. Why was this ADA, who strangely resembled the girl from _Legally Blonde, _making her so nervous? Even working at the Bronx Medical Center, her salary was probably at least twice as much! But Marian couldn't shake the fact that Ms. Legally Blonde held her fate in the palm of her hands. Through her questioning, she was just waiting for the moment when Marian slipped up and said the wrong thing that could convince the jury to find her guilty. She was waiting, like a snake in the grass eager for its prey.

"I see. Get funds for what?" Kearney demanded, her green eyes boring into Marian's head. "Get funds so you could go out and kidnap more kids? Kids like Max Martinez, who before her kidnapping, was an honor student at one of New York City's most prestigious high schools? Kids like Angel and Gary Adams, who lost their entire family?"

"Objection!" Bernstein shouted, standing up and smacking his hands on the table. "Judge Laurent, ADA Kearney is using inflammatory language."

Laurent sighed. "Ms. Kearney, please keep your accusations under control. Sustained."

"Withdrawn," Kearney said. "Redirect, Your Honor?" she asked the judge.

Laurent nodded in her direction.

"Let's discuss the afternoon in which you allegedly experimented on Rosie Turner," Kearney began. "Is it true that you lied to Evelyn Turner, Rosie's mother in order to gain her permission to experiment on her?"

Marian opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She _had _lied to Evelyn, it was true. But how could she twist the truth without outright lying and perjuring herself? "I didn't _lie_ to her. I did what was medically necessary."

"You call it medically necessary?" Kearney snapped. "Are you aware that Rosie had to be taken to the hospital for emergency care after these so-called experiments?"

"I'm…sorry to hear that." Marian shrugged.

Kearney shook her head, as if she wasn't even going to attempt to understand the absurdity of the defendant's behavior. "Moving on. Is it true that you have a son? Oliver 'Omega' Janssen?"

"That is my son," she said. Her son, who had unfortunately testified against her just moments before.

Kearney looked at the judge once again. "Presenting the People's exhibit D, Your Honor. Police uncovered tapes of experiments performed by the defendant and her accomplices on Omega."

She walked over to her table, took out a tape player, and pressed play. Marian's recorded voice echoed through the courtroom.

Kearney knew what was on the tape. It was the same tape Chu had played for her that awful day. The day she lost it. Well, she wasn't going to lose it this time. Not there, in the courtroom. Kearney knew why she was there. She could handle it.

"_Mom, you said no more tests,_" Omega's voice said.

"_I never said that. Roland, did I say that?" _snapped Marian.

"_No, Director,_" Roland ter Borcht said. _"Omega, you must listen to your mother. You do 'vant to be perfect, right? You don't 'vant to be a failure like 'de others." _

"_No…" _

The tape went on, the courtroom audience talking louder as the situation escalated. Finally, it clicked off.

"Dr. Janssen, what was that a recording of?" Kearney asked, as if she was an elementary school teacher asking her students about the alphabet.

"It sounded like…" Marian began. "It sounded like…something you would hear on a crappy rerun of Law and Order or something."

Laurent angrily banged her gavel. "Dr. Janssen, might I remind you that you are on trial for several serious charges? This is no place to be cute. Save your comments like that for _The View._"

"It was someone getting experimented on at the Itex facility, correct?" Kearney asked, walking right up to the witness stand.

"Yes," Marian muttered.

"And was it, in fact, you on this tape performing the experiment?"

Marian sighed.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Kearney asked tauntingly. "Speak up so the jury can hear you."

"That was me," Marian said quietly.

"Okay." Kearney smirked with satisfaction, and turned to the jury, as if to say, _There you have it. _Janssen had practically confessed right then and there!

"No further questions," she said.

"You may step down, Dr. Janssen."

Marian felt wobbly all over, as if she had taken one of her own experimental drugs. Walking back from the podium, she felt one of her heels catch something, and…_fuck!_

Just like that, she found herself on the floor. Her face burning with embarrassment, she stood up, brushed the dirt off of her skirt, and sat back down. She felt like a fifth-grader who had said the wrong line during the school play.

"The people call Maxine Martinez to the stand," Kearney announced. Marian bit her lip. Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, it had. Max was there, and ready to kick ass and take names.

Max felt confident as she strode down the courtroom aisle. She felt almost like a lawyer, wearing a navy blue suit. It was her lucky suit. She had worn this suit the day she had gotten her job at Williams, Mason and Pierce, and it hadn't let her down since then. Her blonde hair was neatly tied in a bun, and she wore small gold hoop earrings-a hand-me-down from her grandmother Gabriela Martinez. Most importantly, she had a look on her face that said, "Hi, I'm Max Martinez, here to kick your ass."

She could hear the whispers as she approached the witness stand. _There she is, _the people said. _It's Max. _But she ignored all of them. The only person she looked at was Fang, who grinned at her as he snapped a photo of her that would inevitably end up in the _New York Times. _

Max walked past Marian, not even nodding to acknowledge her. She walked on by and up to the witness stand, preparing to be sworn in.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the clerk asked.

"I do." _And then some,_ Max thought.

"You may be seated."

Max sat down, crossing her legs and clasping her hands in front of her, as if she was attending a business lunch.

"State your name and address for the record."

"My name is Maxine Martinez, and I live in NYU's Third Avenue North dorm. 75 3rd Avenue, New York, New York."

"Ms. Martinez, what are you studying at NYU?"

"I'm majoring in politics, on the pre-law track."

"What made you decide you wanted to become a lawyer?"

"Probably the whole situation at Itex two years ago. In addition to it being a bad experience for me personally, I really felt that people should do something about situations like that. Me becoming a lawyer is my way of standing up against crime."

"Had you heard of Itex before your kidnapping?"

"Only briefly," Max said. "And I surely didn't think it was some kind of criminal organization. For the longest time, I honestly thought it was a car dealership or something like that."

"How would you describe your…situation at Itex?"

"For the first week or so, I didn't know what to think. I was so confused; I didn't know where I was or what was going on. At first, I thought I was in the hospital, but I really knew was that these people who I'd never seen before kept doing stuff to me. The only one who seemed to care was Jeb, my father. I didn't know who he was, but he kept telling me that he was sorry, that things were going to be alright and I just had to hang in there for a while." Max looked up and scanned the room for Jeb, finally making eye contact and giving him an understanding smile. "After some time, I got better at listening in on conversations and figuring out what was going on. My first thought was, _What's an illegal medical research lab doing in the middle of Manhattan?_ But then I figured that if we were in such a public place, the cops had to come eventually. And they did." She shrugged.

"Did you ever meet the defendant when you were held captive there?"

"I heard her name around, but I never met her in person until the trial. But all of the Whiteco-doctors talked about her all the time. You know, it was always the Director this, the Director that. The people who worked there really seemed to look up to her. I'm not sure why; there's not much to look up to there."

Max heard some of the people observing the trial laugh, and caught Marian glaring at her.

"Ms. Martinez, stay on topic," Laurent warned her.

"And how much contact did you have with the defendant before she kidnapped you?"

"I didn't see her very much. Just once or twice. It's not like her and I had the best relationship, as you can probably imagine," Max said. "I said some things about her in an article, and the next day she and one of her buddies broke into my mother's apartment and kidnapped me."

"Overall, how would you say your experience with Itex and Dr. Janssen affected you?"

"I…don't know," Max admitted. "I was really affected by it. I still have bad dreams, and I'm still trying to come to terms with all that's happened. Right now I'm just trying to make the most of my life."

"Thank you, Ms. Martinez." Kearney sat back down.

Max took a deep breath, twiddling her thumbs to keep her hands from shaking. She was half done-after that chubby asshole Bernstein got his turn, she could sit back down and forget about it. And what was the worst Bernstein could do, anyway? He had to know Janssen's case was going down the toilet. After all Max had been through, surely she could take a few cheap shots thrown by a court-appointed defense attorney.

"The defense may cross-examine the witness."

Bernstein stood up and walked to the center of the courtroom.

"Ms. Martinez, you testified just now that you and the defendant didn't have the best relationship, is that correct?"

Max nodded. "Yes. That's correct."

_It's not like I'm going to call up the person responsible for my kidnapping and say, "Hey, let's go grab coffee," _she thought.

"Is it true that you actually, in fact, _threatened _the defendant, in front of her son, no less?"

"Absolutely not," she insisted. "We had a few words, but I definitely didn't threaten her."

"And what were these words?"

Max thought back to her confrontation with Marian on the Times Square streets. _What's been going on with you? I've been great myself, thanks for asking. Who's the kid? I didn't think you liked children, unless of course they're drugged up and strapped to an operating table. _

"I was just being kind of sarcastic with her, messing around with her a little bit. I wanted her to feel uncomfortable."

"Do you treat everyone like that? Do you like making people feel uncomfortable?"

Max smirked. "Only the ones that deserve it."

"And you feel that you're qualified to make that judgment," Bernstein said, raising a threatening eyebrow. "You're not a judge, you're not a prosecuting attorney, and you're not serving on a jury, but yet you felt that it was appropriate for you to determine who in this city is guilty or not."

"You're implying that I sentenced her to go to prison," Max said, raising her eyebrow right back at him. "But I decide how I want to treat people. And if someone's gonna kidnap me and hurt my friends and family, I don't have any reason to be nice to them. Besides, there's no law against being an asshole. You should know; you're doing it right now!"

Bernstein's mouth dropped open. Laurent banged her gavel.

"Ms. _Martinez!_" she snapped. "Be respectful!"

Max snickered to herself. That might not have been the smartest thing to say in a courtroom, but it sure as hell was accurate. Not to mention funny.

"Based on your testimony, you also implied that other than this alleged 'kidnapping,' you had little to no contact with the defendant. Do you feel this makes you a reliable person to attest to her character?" Bernstein asked, his face beet red.

"That's a question for the Bronx DA's office, not me," Max said with a shrug.

"Do you feel that you know the defendant well enough personally to testify?" Bernstein asked. Hearing him speak was like watching a man try to crawl out of a bottomless pit. It just wasn't going to happen.

"Yes, I do," Max said. "Not to name names here, but it really says a lot about a person when they're so insecure they think they have to kidnap people and abuse their own kids in order to get anywhere in life, you know? It's just plain sad, in my opinion."

Laurent banged her gavel once more. "I'm warning you, Ms. Martinez!"

"No further questions," Bernstein said.

"At this time, the defense may make their closing statement."

Bernstein turned to face the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, over the course of this trial you have heard testimony from my client and several others close to her. This testimony clearly indicates that my client has had a troubled past that may have influenced several…unsavory decisions. In addition, you have seen that the witnesses chosen by the prosecution are unqualified to make judgments against my client. I also invite you to ask yourself, where would we be today without medical research? For decades, ambitious people like Dr. Janssen have helped to improve the medical field and bring hope to many. If you convict my client, it sends a strong message to the medical community that in New York City, scientific development is frowned upon. If you have been positively impacted by the work of medical researchers, and want to continue to encourage society's improvement and development, then please, don't convict Dr. Janssen."

"Thank you, Mr. Bernstein. The People may make their closing statement."

Kearney stood up after Bernstein had sat down. "I don't deny that medical research has positively affected the community. Without the work of many great doctors in our past, our society would be in far worse shape. However, the defendant's actions fall under the category of criminal behavior, not responsible scientific investigation. The first principle of the Hippocratic Oath, which all doctors are required to take, is _do no harm. _You have heard, through evidence and witness testimony, that Dr. Janssen has done much more harm than good. From kidnapping children, to illegal experimentation, to even murder, fraud and extortion, Dr. Janssen's crimes are a disgrace to modern medicine and are a blemish on the face of this fine city. Furthermore, the crimes in which Dr. Janssen is being tried for today were all committed _after _the dismissal of the original case against her. Acquitting the defendant once more will only enable her to wreak more havoc in the lives of many. Thanks to what the defendant calls 'scientific research,' many lives were ruined and many people were personally victimized."

The young prosecutor took a deep breath and thought of the other part of her closing statement. "This country was founded on principles of justice and liberty. How can we, as American citizens, support someone who denied others liberty? Who took their rights away? These crimes are not only illegal, but un-American. Therefore, I ask you to support the rights that we fiercely fought-and continue to fight-to protect in this country, and convict Marian Janssen. Thank you." Kearney nodded at the jury and sat back down.

Judge Renee Laurent then looked up at the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you all have an extremely important decision to make. In all criminal cases, but in this case especially, there is a lot at stake. The charges Dr. Janssen faces are not ones to be taken lightly. Therefore, in making your decision, I instruct you to consider the facts presented at this trial, and only those. Do _not _discuss the case with anybody other than your fellow jurors, and disregard your personal bias and feelings regarding the defendant. Don't allow your decision to be influenced by other sources. Most importantly, keep at the front of your mind the laws of New York City. Thank you." Laurent banged her gavel, signaling the jury to enter deliberation.

Kearney had done her job as best as she could. She had carefully chosen witnesses to shape the case, and they all followed through with their testimony. How could anyone _not _convict Janssen after all everyone had said about her, and all the evidence presented?

Now, it was in the jury's hands.


	39. A Turn for the Better

On the day of Thanksgiving of 2013, the jury of the Bronx District Court ended its deliberative period.

Practically the whole city, even the ever-elusive borough of Staten Island, was present in the courtroom. There were so few seats available compared to the number of people wanting to see Marian Janssen (hopefully) be found guilty, that spectators had taken to leaning against the courtroom walls, most of them shifting uncomfortably to get a better look at the main event.

The Flock and company had gotten there early enough to get front-row seats, so to speak. At the front of the viewing area, of course, was Fang, sitting with the other _New York Times _reporters but glimpsing back at his friends every so often.

Finally, Judge Renee Laurent entered the courtroom, sighing.

_It's about time this shitstorm came to a close, _she thought, relieved that it would all be over. For the last few weeks-few years, really-it had been all about Marian Janssen. Laurent couldn't wait for this media circus of a trial to be closed at last so that things could settle back into a routine and she could get Robert Chu off her back.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" she asked, peering over the lenses of her glasses at the jury foreman.

"We have, Your Honor," the foreman, a Bronx native from the Riverdale neighborhood named Eric Fisher, said. He looked down on the sheet of paper he was holding.

The courtroom fell silent, everyone, with the exception of the defense, praying for a guilty verdict.

_Don't let me down, _Max thought anxiously. _I need this victory. _

"On the charge of the kidnapping of Maxine Martinez, how do you find the defendant?" Laurent asked.

"We find the defendant, Dr. Marian Janssen, guilty as charged," Fisher said.

"On the charge of aggravated child abuse, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty as charged," he repeated.

"And on the two counts of illegal experimentation, how do you find the defendant?"

"Guilty on both counts."

Max couldn't help it. Without thinking, she leapt up from her seat. "Yes!" she shouted. She grabbed Angel, who was sitting next to her, hugging her tightly.

Luckily, she wasn't alone. Everyone cheered throughout the courtroom.

Max ran over to Fang. "We did it!" she said, kissing him hungrily. "We really did it! We beat the Director at last!"

Faintly, the two could hear music playing from the back of the courtroom. Max turned around to see a group of people from her mother's organization, the Coalition to Stop the Madness. The CSM was a liberal social activist group, who had been a major driving force behind the Occupy Wall Street movement. Now, they were rejoicing over Janssen's conviction. She had always been one of their main targets.

The music got louder. Max could make out the song-it was an old Frank Sinatra hit-"New York, New York."

_Start spreading the news_

_I'm leaving today_

_I want to be a part of it_

_New York, New York_

_These vagabond shoes_

_Are longing to stray_

_Right through the very heart of it_

_New York, New York_

_I wanna wake up in a city that doesn't sleep…_

The peppy music filled Max's heart with hope. Marian getting convicted wasn't just a good thing for her; it was a good thing for the whole city. And this trial was the epitome of New York justice at its best.

Laurent banged her gavel. "Everyone _settle down! _This is a _court of law, _not a Yankees game!" she shouted. "I said settle down! This trial is _not_ over!"

People slowly began to sit back down, although there was still an excited energy about the whole scene.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you had a heavy burden placed upon you all. You have all done your duty as citizens of your country, as well as the state and city of New York. Thank you for all your time and effort; you are dismissed with my best wishes." Laurent glared at Marian. "I am ordering the defendant be taken into custody prior to her sentencing. In the case of the People versus Marian Janssen, this case is hereby closed." She banged her gavel. _Have a nice day; I'm out of here. _

Before the bailiff could restrain Marian, she ran over to where her son was sitting, next to Jack and Jeb and across the aisle from the Martinez family and Max's friends.

"Omega," she said breathlessly. "Listen to me. You _have _to do me a favor, okay? I have an account in the Cayman Islands, and you need to-"

"Save it," Omega snapped. "I'm not doing you any more favors. I'm done, okay? According to the state of New York, you're guilty. I'm sorry, but…I can't deal with you anymore." He shook his head.

"But-"

"Didn't you hear me? I said forget it. Luckily you have a lot of time ahead of you to think about this whole situation. Good luck."

Her expression turned from desperation to fury as the bailiff handcuffed her. "I guess you were destined to be a failure after all."

Omega shrugged, turning back around. "Uh, I've got people around me who actually care about me, and you've just been found guilty of three felonies and are going to jail. I think we all know who the real failure is around here."

Marian opened her mouth, but the bailiff dragged her away.

"Save your breath, Janssen. You've done enough damage, and you'll need it where you're going," he said to her.

Her son gave her a small wave before turning back away.

Outside of the courthouse, one of the CSM members had turned the music back on, and Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" was blaring across the marble steps. Max Martinez bobbed her head to the beat as she and her friends walked down the steps.

"Oh, man. I haven't heard this song in ages," Ari said, chuckling. "My grandma-our grandma-used to play it in her apartment."

_These little town blues_

_Are melting away_

_I'll make a brand new start of it_

_In old New York_

_If I can make it there_

_I'll make it…anywhere_

_It's up to you_

_New York, New York_

Max thought of Grandma Batchelder. How many extended family members had she lost touch with through all of this nonsense? She was glad it was finally over. "How's she doing?"

"She's doing well," Ari said. "She lives right outside of the city in Bronxville. We should go visit her sometime. When I went there last, she talked about how she hadn't seen you since you were a baby. _How's Maxie? Is she doing okay?_"

"I'll have to tell her that I can't stand being called Maxie," Max joked. "Sounds good, though! Let's see her before you go back to California."

"Max," Angel said, nudging her. "Some woman's calling your name."

Max had thought she heard a faint _Maxine. _She turned around to see a couple standing in front of her.

The man was tall and clean-cut with dark brown hair. He was wearing a suit. The woman wore a maroon dress with a blazer, and looked like an older version of Marian Janssen.

"May I help you?" Max asked them.

The woman suddenly grabbed Max in a hug. "Maxine, I am so sorry," she said, her bony fingers patting Max's back. "I am so, so sorry."

"For what?" Max asked dumbly, pulling away.

"For everything my daughter did to you and your family," the woman said, sniffling emotionally. "I'm Marilyn Janssen. Marian's mother."

The man, not sure what to do, offered Valencia Martinez a handshake. "David Janssen," he introduced himself.

"Valencia Martinez," Dr. Martinez said, shaking his hand.

"I just…I don't know where I went wrong," Marilyn said, sighing. "If I could turn back the clock, start over from square one, maybe we could've prevented this…"

"Marilyn, don't blame yourself," David told her, putting his arm around her. "We did all we could. She has to take responsibility for her own actions."

"I just feel so _guilty!_" she said. "I mean, look at poor Maxine here!"

"With all due respect, I'd hardly call Max _poor Maxine,_" Fang said. "I mean, she's a pre-law student at one of the best colleges in the country. She landed a job at one of the city's biggest law firms. Other than that, she's got lots of friends, and she just helped convict a major criminal. No offense."

Marilyn looked slightly shocked. "Oh. Well. I'm very sorry then. Good luck."

"It's okay," Max assured her.

Dr. Martinez checked her watch. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have to go if we want to make our reservation at the Marquis." Dr. Martinez had rented several tables at the View restaurant for Thanksgiving, located in the Marriot Marquis hotel in Times Square. Fang's parents, the Rides, had flown in from California for the occasion. Even Jeb and Ari Batchelder were joining them, now that Max and Jeb had made up.

Max turned back to the Janssens. "What are you two doing for the occasion?" she asked, forgetting that they didn't have much to be thankful for.

"We were going to spend some time with our grandson," Marilyn said. "But we weren't really sure, to be honest."

"Why don't you join us?" Max blurted, causing everyone to shoot her surprised looks. After all, they were the _Janssen _family.

"We wouldn't want to intrude, especially after…"

"_You _didn't do anything," Max reminded them. "There's no point in all of us hating each other now that the trial's over. Invite Omega too. He seems like a decent person."

"Well," David scratched his head, thinking. "Don't we have a train to catch?"

"The trains run every hour," Max reminded him. She wasn't sure why she was so eager to have her kidnapper's parents join them for Thanksgiving dinner, but she felt slightly bad for them. Nobody asked to have their daughter be a career criminal. It probably was weighing pretty heavily on their minds.

"What the hell, then?" he said, laughing. "We'll do Thanksgiving with the Martinez family. Alright."

As they walked towards the car that had been provided for them, Max felt something cold and wet hit her face. She looked up at the sky; white snowflakes had begun to fall.

Max felt a shiver of excitement. She, growing up in the Northeast, had always loved the first snow of the season. When it got really thick, Max and Ella would go to Central Park to have endless snowball fights.

She wasn't sure what the timing of the snowfall symbolized. But she was sure of one thing: her life was finally taking a turn for the better.


	40. We Are Young

**A/N: Here we go, guys. Last official chapter before the epilogue. )': I just wanted to say, I've really enjoyed writing AFTI and NYILY. Not only did I get to meet some AWESOME reviewers, but I learned a lot about the NYC criminal justice system in the process, which is always a good thing (: Thanks for everyone who's kept up with this story and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have!**

"You remember what I told you?" Mr. Chu asked Nicholas "Fang" Ride. "You don't even have to talk about your book or that Dupont fellow. Just talk about the Janssen case and how you felt it was handled."

Fang had agreed a while back to give a speech outside of the Bronx district court after the trial-it had just been assumed, in typical Chu fashion, that Janssen would be convicted. Being that he was basically the official reporter of all things related to Janssen or Itex, it made sense.

But now, he was having second thoughts. He never did really like Mr. Chu, and even his South Bronx constituents didn't fully trust him as a district attorney. He realized, at that moment, that Chu probably needed Fang's endorsement in order to continue his climb up the political ladder. He even heard that Chu was planning to run for borough president or even mayor-a thought that made Fang cringe. The _last _thing he wanted was that loudmouthed, arrogant sonofabitch Robert Chu running New York City. He'd move back to Los Angeles and live in his parents' basement before he'd live with that.

"Yeah, I know," Fang said, adjusting his tie. "I just need to talk about how relatable and tough on crime you are."

Chu shrugged, not even making an attempt to sound humble. "Hey, Mr. Ride, facts don't lie. The crime rate's at a record low."

"Yeah, you said that five times."

"And _smile, _goddammit!" Chu ordered Fang. "We just convicted one of the city's most wanted criminals and saved your little girlfriend's life. Stop acting like we're at a motherfucking funeral."

Fang rolled his eyes and grimaced. Yeah, there was no way he was going to stand up there kissing that guy's ass.

He approached the podium, tapping the microphone several times to get the attention of the reporters.

"Good morning, everyone," he said. "My name is Nicholas Ride, and as you all know, I'm a student at Columbia University and an investigative reporter for the _New York Times._ I'm up here today, not only as a journalist, but as a citizen of New York City, just like all of you out there. And I've had a few experiences over the last few weeks and last few years that I wanted to discuss…"

At the Rose M. Singer Center of Rikers Island Correctional Facility, a group of women clad in orange prison jumpsuits swarmed around the pod room TV.

Marian Janssen ignored that scene altogether, choosing to sit off on the side reading a copy of _Glamour _magazine. Even that she couldn't focus on. While before, she had enjoyed looking at the latest and greatest designer clothes and imagining what would look best on her for this party or that dinner, now, all she could think about was her impending sentencing. Most likely, she'd get the maximum time in jail, meaning there was no point in her reading _Glamour _magazine. _Hottest Evening Gowns? _Most likely, she'd never wear another evening gown again. _Best Makeup for Your Skin Tone? _Makeup was forbidden in jail. _Top Jewelry Picks? _Jewelry was also banned. _10 Steps to a Bikini Body? _Marian didn't have to worry about gaining weight. Nothing in the jail cafeteria was even edible.

The noise of the women near the TV grew louder.

"Aww, damn, look at him!" someone shouted, whistling.

"What a good-lookin' kid! I wouldn't mind getting a piece of that."

Marian put the magazine down on the table and crept over, trying not to get the attention of any of the other inmates. On the tiny screen, she could see Nicholas Ride, giving some sort of speech.

"Shut up, y'all. I'm trying to listen!" one of the inmates snapped. Everyone settled down, watching Ride talk.

"When I got the job at the _New York Times, _it was purely a stroke of good luck," he was saying. "After all, how many eighteen-year-old college freshmen get jobs at the _Times? _Then, another stroke of good luck came. I got the Martinez assignment. As you can probably imagine, I was pretty happy about that. Here I was, just starting out on my own, and not only did I land an internship at the city's biggest paper, I got an assignment I was actually interested in!"

_Alright, Ride, what's your point? _Marian thought anxiously. She knew he was going to say something about the case.

"Well, I know your time is short, and you all know what happened with Itex two years ago. So I'll cut to the chase."

_Thank you! _

"It's been two years after Itex was shut down, and this…_company, _if you can even call it that, its leader was just convicted yesterday. And through this case, in addition to learning quite a bit about criminal proceedings in the New York City court system, I was able to witness firsthand what a truly _disgusting _society this is," he said, he practically spat in the microphone.

This change in his tone made the reporters uncomfortable. Marian could see on the TV that they were all whispering to one another. And it made Marian uncomfortable too.

At the Martinez family's SoHo apartment, Max, the Flock, Ari, Dr. Martinez, Jeb, Fang's parents, Ella, and Marilyn, David, and Omega Janssen sat on the floor in front of their flat-screen TV like they were watching a feature film.

"I think he's getting pissed," Angel whispered to Max. She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead on the TV.

"Let's talk about Marian Janssen for a minute, shall we? After all, that's why we're all gathered here," Fang said. "You know, you'd think that with all her education, she'd have learned somewhere along the way that crime really doesn't pay. But I guess the day they were teaching ethics and morals, she was out shopping or something. _Oh, I wonder if this dress will look cute when I'm experimenting on children!_" he said in a mocking falsetto.

They all laughed at his comment.

"But I digress. I shouldn't blame her altogether. Although she is a lying, conniving, evil psychopath, she's not the only one in this city," Fang said.

Max held her breath, praying he wouldn't say anything against Jeb. She thought they had all made up!

"District Attorney Robert Chu," he announced, provoking gasps from the reporters. "Mr. Chu turned a criminal trial into a bona fide celebrity case."

Back at the courthouse, Mr. Chu was fuming. What the _hell _was Ride thinking? Chu had trusted him to support him, and now Ride was throwing him under the bus, putting him in the same category as _Marian Janssen! _He wanted to march over to that podium and push Ride out of the way, but for some reason he was frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in horror.

"Now, I'm clearly a modern guy," Fang continued. "I was born and raised in the Information Age. I've got an iPhone, laptop, Facebook, Twitter, the works. I understand social media these days. The case would've taken off like this anyway. But when a DA is so focused on spreading the word and sleazy self-promotion, when all he cares about is the number of votes he gets, then maybe he's not the best guy for the job after all. I mean, you guys elected him, so it's your choice, I'm just questioning _how _he got there." He shrugged.

The inmates at Rikers sat engrossed in the TV. Even when Marian moved through the crowd to turn the volume up, nobody said a word.

"It's true, though," Sarah "S.J" James, an alleged bank robber who had been convicted in the Bronx, said. "Chu don't care 'bout justice. All he care about's himself."

Normally, Marian would have said something in agreement to try and form a rapport with her fellow inmates, but she was too distracted by Nicholas Ride's face on the tiny, fuzzy screen to say anything.

"I'd be a terrible person to say he's _as _bad as Dr. Janssen," he said. "I'd say she's one of the city's worst criminals. But if we're pointing fingers, we've gotta look at all the parts of society. Are any of us really innocent?"

He took a pause. "That brings me to my next point. As much as I appreciate the work Mark Dupont and Metropolitan Books have done for me, helping me publish my first book, I've decided to end my professional relationship with Dupont," he said. "Disregarding the fact that he chose to settle his case outside of court, I feel that, given my public stance on illegal experimentation and other crimes, it would be immoral and hypocritical of me to continue working with a…sex offender."

"Yes!" Max cheered from the SoHo apartment. She turned to Nudge. "Now you can see why I love that guy!"

"Now, for those of you who are worried, _Itex, New York, and a Farewell to Innocence _will still be printed and available in bookstores, and I'm in the process of working on a deal with a new publisher," Fang continued. "But _I _wasn't out shopping when I learned about ethics and morals. And I don't want my money going towards someone who takes sexual advantage of young girls. That completely goes against my beliefs. It's just not right."

Despite his confident appearance, Fang's heart was pounding. He knew there would be major ramifications for what he was saying. The newspapers and Twitter feeds would be blowing up with news of what he was saying, and Chu would inevitably be extremely angry. Fang could see the death glare Chu was shooting him from a few hundred feet away. But he didn't care. This was _his _decision, and he was just doing the right thing.

"I know your time is short, so I'll wrap things up here," Fang said. "The point I'm trying to make here is that in order to defend justice, we have to be good people ourselves. It's just not fair to say one person's actions are wrong and then be manipulative ourselves. We all have to look within ourselves to realize what's right and wrong. And we have to expose others who threaten the lives of others, like the recently convicted Dr. Janssen. On that note, thank you for your time, and happy Thanksgiving." With a nod, he stepped down from the podium.

Rather than attacking him, the reporters swarmed around Mr. Chu, all eager to hear his side of the story. This gave Fang some time to escape the scene and dash down into the Grand Concourse subway station.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he was in the relatively quiet subway station. He couldn't believe what he had just done. It was possibly the gutsiest thing he'd ever done. And it had been all him. For quite possibly the first time during this whole case, he had done something for himself without any influence from Al Rosenberg, Mr. Chu, his publisher, or even Max.

A train arrived on the platform. Fang stepped inside.

"This is a Manhattan-bound 2 express train," the announcer said in a robotic voice. "The next stop is 96th Street."

Then came the familiar warning, "Stand clear of the closing doors, please."

Fang smiled as he slipped his headphones into his ears and leaned back in his seat.

A familiar song began playing, one that he and Max loved to listen to together.

_Tonight_

_We are young_

_So let's set the world on fire_

_We can burn brighter_

_Than the sun…_

**105 Sullivan Street**

**SoHo**

"Did I say you're the greatest person alive?" Max said to Fang. "I think I already did. But I'll say it again. Fang, you're the greatest person alive."

"Thank you, thank you very much," Fang joked. "Man. I can't believe I said all that."

"Me either. But you did amazing!" Max exclaimed. "It's about time someone showed Chu whose boss. And you know how I feel about Marian and that publisher guy."

"I mean, you blew them wide open!" Iggy added, making an exploding noise to prove his point. "You were like that fat guy who made _Bowling for Columbine._"

"You mean Michael Moore?" Max asked.

"Yeah, him."

"You did great, Mr. Ride," Jeb congratulated him.

"Thanks. But you can call me Fang," he said with a smile. "I mean, we're all supposed to be moving on, right?"

"Yep. Good point," Jeb said with a shrug.

"So, Dad, when are you moving back to the city?" Max asked. The room fell silent. It was the first time Max had publicly acknowledged that Jeb was her father.

"Um.." he said, as surprised as the rest of them. "I don't know. I'm hoping to get a lease by the end of December."

"That'll be a good way to kick off 2014," Dr. Martinez said.

"Yeah," he said. "I missed this city."

"You said you were out on Long Island?" Marilyn Janssen asked. "So are we. We're in Montauk. We have a lovely place out by the beach, if any of you are ever interested in joining us one weekend."

"Thanks for the offer," Max said politely. Though she couldn't see herself partying it up with the Janssens, she was glad that things were working out for all of them.

The ringing of Fang's phone shocked him. "Excuse me, guys," he said, ducking into Max's room to answer the call. It was Al Rosenberg.

_Fuck! _he thought nervously. He had forgotten that Rosenberg and Chu were close friends. Surely he had heard about the incident by now…what would he say? Would Fang lose his job at the _Times? _

"Hello? Al?" Fang asked.

"Kid, what the _hell _happened in the Bronx earlier?" Rosenberg snapped.

"I'm sorry, Al, I was just-"

"That, my friend, was the _fucking shit!" _Rosenberg laughed. "That's why I hired your undergrad ass! Because you're not afraid to tell it like it is!"

"W-what?" Fang asked in disbelief.

"Yeah! You know, me and that guy Chu go way back. But I gotta tell you, he's more full a' shit than a Port-a-Potty at a country fair."

Fang couldn't help but laugh at Rosenberg's crude joke.

"And you called him out for it! That's the first time anyone's stood up to him like that around here," he said with a snort. "Look, what are you doing today?"

"I'm at my girlfriend's mother's house with some people. It's like a big gathering," Fang said.

"Okay, today won't work. What about tomorrow?"

"I don't have any plans so far."

"Awesome. I'll get us a table at Balthazar for noon," he said. "We got some things to talk about."

"Like what?"

"Like making you a permanent part of the _New York Times _staff," Rosenberg said. "I'm dead serious, kid. You're something else, you know? You've got real potential."

Fang felt his mouth curve upwards in a grin. This could be the answer to everything-his future in journalism all lined up!

"You still there, kid?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"Good. So, whaddya say?" Rosenberg pressed.

"Balthazar at noon," Fang confirmed.

"Great. See you there, kid."

"What are you doing, smiling like that?" Max said, entering her room. "Were you looking through my underwear drawer again?" She laughed, moving closer to him.

"I got a job at the _Times._"

"Well, yeah," Max joked. "What have you been doing the past two years?"

"Bigger than that. Rosenberg's promoting me. He wants to make me a permanent part of the staff," he said.

"Really? Get out," Max said, her jaw dropping.

"Deadass," Fang insisted. "This is it, Max. I just figured out my life plan."

His arms snaked around Max's waist, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you," she said quietly. She would've said something else, something more congratulatory, but there was no need for words for the rest of the night.


	41. Epilogue

**Two Months Later**

"We won't keep you too long, Mayor Bloomberg," Nicholas "Fang" Ride said to Mayor Michael Bloomberg. "Max and I just wanted to thank you for all your help and support over the past, well, the past two years, really. Don't know what we could've done without you."

Bloomberg looked from Fang to Max, then smiled. "Aw, it's not a problem at all. In fact, I was thinking about you earlier. Why don't you two take a seat? I'll have Laura bring out some coffee."

"Me?" Fang asked, laughing in disbelief. "What made you think of me? I'm nothing special."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mr. Ride," Bloomberg insisted. "You helped expose Itex Laboratories for what it really was. You helped clean the city up and put the Whitecoats outta business. And you, Ms. Martinez, you really told it like it is at the trial."

Max smiled. "Thanks, Mayor Bloomberg," she said.

"You know, we need more people like you around here," Bloomberg insisted. "Bright young people, not afraid to take charge and stand up for what's right."

Max looked out the window, seeing the New York City skyline rise behind the Mayor. The freshly fallen snow on the buildings reflected the sun's light, making everything look just a bit brighter. All in all, it felt like a day for new beginnings.

"You know, Ms. Martinez, I really have to hand it to you for how you dealt with this whole…ordeal," Bloomberg continued. "You went through more than anybody I know, and yet you never gave up. You never stopped trying. You just made the best of everything and rose to the challenge."

"Hey, what else can you do?" Max said. "Yeah, what happened to me was terrible. But why not take it as an opportunity to help myself and everyone around me?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Bloomberg said. "Hell, maybe you'll even be in this office one day. Mayor Martinez does have a nice ring to it." He winked.

"She's definitely got the brains," Fang agreed, nudging Max playfully. _Maybe even Mayor Ride, _he thought, startling himself. What made him think of that, of Max having his last name? He was barely twenty, not even old enough to drink legally. He was far too young to think about marriage-let alone marriage to the only steady girlfriend he'd ever had.

_Well, never say never, _he told himself. _Life's full of surprises. _

"Well, thank _you_," Max said. "Really. You've been a big inspiration."

"No," Bloomberg said, shaking his head. "You two are the real inspiration. It takes real nerve to go after big companies like Itex-and you two aren't even with the NYPD! The street criminals, petty offenders, they're the easiest ones to take down, believe it or not. It's the rich, powerful ones that are the hardest to catch."

"But we did it," Fang said, holding Max's hand.

"Speaking of rich, powerful criminals, did you hear what happened to Marian Janssen?" Max suddenly blurted.

Bloomberg sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah. Commissioner Kelly told me she kicked the bucket. What was the full story?"

"It happened at Rikers, a day before she was about to be transferred to a women's prison upstate. Marian was walking back from the prison shop when she was attacked and strangled by another inmate. Apparently her killer's kid had been kidnapped and even died at Itex. Small world, huh?"

"It's unfair," Fang said. "She didn't even officially serve a day of her sentence, and, poof! She's dead, just like that."

"You know, normally I'd say I feel bad for her kid," Max said. "But to be honest, I think Omega's better off without Marian tormenting him. It's not like he's missing out on anything."

"What happened with him, anyway?" Bloomberg asked.

"Well, he's back with Jack and Kristina Janssen-Marian's cousins-in Stony Brook for now. Jeb's hoping to get custody eventually, but he's not going to push it. I think everyone's just trying to keep things under control for now. Omega's had a pretty rough time as it is. He doesn't need to deal with switching schools and all. But other than that, he's doing well, or as well as he can be, I guess."

"And Jeb? How's he doing?"

"Surprisingly well," Max said. "He's actually a decent guy. I'd say all of us are on good terms. He moved back to the city, to a little apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Get this-he lives in the same building as Brigid Dwyer and her fiance, Bryce Marsden!"

"Dwyer...Marsden...remind me again who they are?" Bloomberg tilted his head curiously.

"They're doctors. Brigid used to work at Itex," Fang explained. "She actually blew the whistle on them back in 2011. She and I rescued Max from that place. And she got engaged to Bryce last month. He plays in a band, the Chromosomes. They tried to start a medical research company of their own, but it never took off, so they're both working at the NYU hospital."

Bloomberg nodded. "Good. Glad they're doing well. What about your family? How's the Martinez clan holding up?"

"Pretty great!" Max exclaimed. "My mom's seeing someone, a vet she works with. Ella's great. She got into UCLA, so she'll be a California girl next year. And Angel's doing awesome too. She actually hit it off with Omega. They're the same age, and they've been talking to each other on Facebook on and off since the trial. So everyone's doing well."

"Iggy and Nudge are loving DC," Fang added. "They sat in on a congressional hearing the other day."

"Good."

Max saw Bloomberg smile-no, grin. It was the first time she had seen any displays of happiness from the Mayor, and it was about time. It was 2014, the new year. The Whitecoats were gone. The Director was dead. Things in New York City were finally settling back into a perfectly chaotic rhythm.

"And how about you, Mr. Ride? I heard through the grapevine you were movin' on up over at the _New York Times. _You know, that was a real brave stunt you pulled after court a few months ago!"

"You heard right," Fang said. "And thanks. It's hard for a journalist to take sides on hot-button issues like that, but you know what? At that moment, I really didn't care. Everything I said about Chu was the truth. And that's my job. To expose the truth. I did it with the Whitecoats, I did it with Chu, and I'll do it again and again." He shrugged.

"You did well," Bloomberg said. "There's no way they'll re-elect him this fall. And he shouldn't count on winning any other position in this city, especially not mine."

"Who are you hoping to win this election?" Max asked. She knew Bloomberg's time as the Mayor was coming to a close. He had already been in power longer than any other mayor in the history of the city. Not only that, he was getting older. He was in his mid-seventies now, hardly the young man he was when he entered the political field years ago. He had done a good job, but the time had come for someone new and fresh to take over.

"Judge Renee Laurent's getting her campaign off the ground," Bloomberg informed them. "I'm rooting for her, to be honest. She's got a good head on her shoulders. If she's elected, she'll do a great job."

"Laurent? No way!" Max said in disbelief. "That's awesome. I can definitely see her in your shoes."

"Well, let's keep our fingers crossed for her to win," Fang said.

Bloomberg switched gears suddenly, turning to look at Max. "Ms. Martinez, I'm so sorry. I've been ignoring you all this time," he apologized. "What's been going on with you?"

Max smiled. "Don't worry about it. To be honest, with all the press attention my case has gotten, I'm actually glad to have the focus off me for once."

"Oh, don't be so humble," Bloomberg insisted. "You're a real swell girl. Tell me how you've been."

"If you insist," Max said. "Well, second semester at NYU starts in a couple of weeks. I'm studying politics, pre-law with a criminology concentration. In between all the interviews, TV appearances, being ambushed by paparazzi running in Central Park..."

"She was even in _People _magazine," Fang insisted. "It's like she's a celebrity."

Max shook her head. "Nah. I'm no celebrity. Really, the only reason people know who I am is because of what happened to me. But, you know, people like a good story. Anyway," she said with a sigh, "I've been spending a lot of time with my family since school's been off. Helping my mom out, that sort of stuff. I still work at the law firm, which I love. I've made some great connections there. I'm lining up a position teaching a criminal psychology class at Borough of Manhattan Community College this summer. Other than that...believe it or not, I actually have some time for fun."

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what does the great Maxine Martinez do for fun?" Bloomberg questioned, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Typical broke college kid stuff," Max joked. "Dorm parties, movie dates, concerts. That sort of stuff."

"Well, good for you, Ms. Martinez," Bloomberg said. "Good for _both _of you. I'm proud to know you two."

Laura, Mayor Bloomberg's secretary, poked her head in the room. "Mayor Bloomberg, you've got a call on line three."

"Well, it seems like you're busy," Fang said. "We'll let you go."

"Great talking to you two, as always," Bloomberg said. "Thanks for stopping by."

"No problem," Max said. "Have a great day."

The two of them exited Bloomberg's office, and made their way to the main floor of City Hall. When reached the lobby, it looked as if there was a reception taking place. People in professional-looking suits milled around, eating mini sandwiches and sipping cups of coffee.

"Aaaayyy!" Max and Fang heard someone shout. "Maxine Martinez! Nicholas Ride!"

They turned around, spotting Ray Kelly, the NYPD Police Commissioner. He, obviously, was in much better spirits than he was that day at One Police Plaza. Despite his tough outer appearance, he seemed to really care about the two.

"What the hell are you guys doin'?" he asked in mock anger. "You didn't think you could leave without sayin' goodbye!"

"Wouldn't think of it, Commissioner Kelly," Max said, shaking the man's hand. "Good to see you."

"No, good to see _you_. I'm so glad to see you're doin' alright," Kelly said. "Same goes to you, Mr. Ride."

"Thank you," Fang said politely. "Thanks for everything."

"Now, don't you go forgettin' about us," Kelly warned the couple.

"Oh, don't worry," Max told him. "You haven't seen the last of us yet."

Kelly laughed. "Good to hear. I'll see you around."

As Max and Fang walked towards the front doors of the building, preparing to re-enter the city they loved so dearly, they could hear the final lines of Frank Sinatra's _New York, New York _playing softly in the background.  
_These little town blues_

_Are melting away_

_I'm gonna make a brand new start of it_

_In old New York_

_Aaaaand..._

_If I can make it there_

_I'm gonna make it...anywhere_

_It's up to you_

_New York, New York..._

_New Yooooooork!_

**A/N: Well, New York, I Love You (and the AFTI series) is complete. Done. Finished. Wow. I can't believe it. It's been great writing this story, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it! **

**As for future writing of mine, I'm working on an original novel, and I'll be writing more fanfics along the way, so stay tuned! If you're in the market for a good-no, GREAT-book to read, check out Tom Wolfe's "The Bonfire of the Vanities" and "A Man In Full," which inspired AFTI and NYILY (: **

**Thanks for all who read and reviewed this story, and don't forget: if you can make it in New York, you'll make it anywhere (: **

**Love you all! **


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